


I Found

by Chickensarentcheap



Series: Tyler and Esme's story [1]
Category: Extraction (2020), Tyler Rake - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Injury, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Non-Graphic Violence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 93,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickensarentcheap/pseuds/Chickensarentcheap
Summary: Broken and bleeding. Weathered and in tatters. Two damaged and weary souls find one another when they least expect it.  Wrong place, wrong time. Yet both powerless to stop it.
Relationships: Tyler Rake/OC, Tyler/Ovi
Series: Tyler and Esme's story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754608
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. 11 Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven months after the events in Dhaka and his near death experience, Tyler Rake is a new man. A different man. Struggling with the demons of his past while balancing being a husband and a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a 'future chapter'. It is Tyler Rake/Female OC established relationships. I will make notes when other chapters flash back to the past.

*******

It's been just shy of twelve months and his instincts are still keen; nerves rash and fresh, body and mind always on high alert. The proof to the old adage that old habits really do die hard. 

A journey to the very brink of death. Weeks of lying in a hospital bed teetering on the threshold of this life and the next. Countless agonizing hours of rehab and physical therapy just to relearn the basics and get back onto his weary and battered feet. Once he was home nothing had been able to slow him down. He threw everything he had into healing. Every ounce of mind, body, and spirit. Pushing himself past the warnings and the limits that the doctors and specialists had set for him. Ignoring the advice on not to push himself too hard, too fast. He felt as if he didn't have a choice. He no longer just had himself to take care. But another human being with one on the way that needed him to take care of them. Provide for them. Protect them. So he had pushed himself to the brink of both exhaustion and physical and emotional collapse. Eventually finding himself back at at the gym and packing on the weight and muscle. Anxious for some semblance of the man he used to be. 

He hears the soft rustle of blankets though the monitor on the nightstand and his eyes immediately snap open. Sleep was a strange beast for him these days; nights where he could fall into a peaceful slumber and stay there until sunlight was streaming through the window, others where the pain was all encompassing and nauseating and he couldn't get comfortable, and those where he was haunted by the demons of his past. The latter didn't come nearly as often as they did. He'd managed to find some hint of internal peace with the things he had done and witnessed. Once in a while he'd find himself back on that bridge. Assaulted by the smells of gun powder and lead. The acrid taste of blood on his lips. And he'd hear his voice and feel her hands; the way she cradled his face in them, the way she'd pulled his nearly lifeless body tight against her, feel those tears that feel on his skin. Thankfully he'd awaken and quickly discover that he was in the safety and comfort of his own home. His own bed. And he'd watch her as she slept; the way the moonlight painted her smooth skin in an ethereal glow, the slight smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. He'd watch her and listen to her breathe and he'd remind himself of just how far he had come. Gratitude spreading through him like a slow burning fire. Thankful for the second chance that he'd been given. For the love that he'd found during one of the darkest and most difficult periods of his life. She'd given him a reason. A purpose. And he wasn't going to take that for granted.

He groans as he rolls over onto his back. The pain isn't as bad tonight. There were times he could barely even move. Where the agony made him dizzy and nauseous and even the simplest of tasks seemed impossible to preform. Tonight it's a dull ache; a nagging pain that has settled deep into his bones and his joints but he has learned to deal with. Placing his hands behind his head, he waits and listens. The lights from the monitor dancing across the ceiling as life stirs in the room across the hall. He's gotten used to it; the little noises, the soft sighs, the slight fussing before she settles herself back to sleep. It wasn't his first rodeo after all; not his first foray into fatherhood. But it is the first time he's been able to be more hands on. Put his be all and end all into the nurturing. And this time he knows he will get it right. He's determined to make amends for the mistakes of his past. Moving on didn't mean forgetting. It didn't mean that the love and regret and the guilt weren't still there, lingering just under the surface. Sometimes the greatest homage to the dead was how the living continued. How they made up for the bad decisions they made and how those decisions had...in the end...helped shape them into a better person. 

The sounds through the monitor continue and he sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and giving his body and brain time to adjust to full consciousness. Running his hands through his hair and over his tired face, fingers brushing against the various scars that serve as a lasting memory of his former life. A pair of sweats sit in a discarded pile by the bed and he reaches for them; softly muttering profanities at the various cracks and pops that his body makes at the simple task of pulling on his pants. Scar tissue, arthritis, remnants of shrapnel and bullets that couldn't safely be removed. All working together to be a complete pain in his ass. His wife moves behind him. Sighing loudly and contently as she rolls over onto her side. Not waking as her hand instinctively reaching out for him; finger tips brushing against his back just as he stands up. 

He is out the door and in the hall before the first shrill cry erupts. Yawning and stretching noisily as he steps into the nursery. A cheerful room with soft yellow walls, pink, white, and purple stripped curtains and natural wood furniture. Teddy bears and dolls staring down at him from the perches on the shelves on the wall, accompanied by framed photos of baby animals and Disney characters. He'd never pictured himself a 'girl dad'; frilly dresses and the tiny socks with the lace around the ankles, and the little headbands that served no other purpose than being cute. He was rough and tumble. Always had been, even from an early age. So when he'd found out he was having a daughter he'd been terrified. He didn't know the first thing about taking care of little girls and doing their hair and healing their broken hearts. And for the first time in his life was actually scared of something. Or someone. A being that hadn't even been born yet but was already making a huge impact on his life.

“You'll be fine,” his wife had assured him when he'd expressed his concern. Watching from the couch as she stood at the kitchen table folding laundry. Including a newly purchased outfit and those tiny teeny socks that she had purchased just hours ago. She was so beautiful. Standing there with that chestnut hair tumbling down to her waist, her belly swollen with their child. HIS child. A child that had been conceived in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty. “You've ridden this particular bike before,” she'd reminded him. “This isn't your first time going through this.”

“That was different. That was a boy. This is a girl. This is dresses and pig tails and tea parties and make up and other boys.”

“Tyler, that's years down the road. You can't worry about that stuff. Make up and boys? You can't dwell on what she's going to be like when she's a teenager.”

“I sure bloody well can. Because knowing my luck she'll end up just like her mother. Full of piss and vinegar and all kinds of trouble.”

“You always did know how to get yourself into heaps of it,” she'd smirked, and tossed a pair of balled up socks in his direction, just missing his head. “But you always managed to get yourself out of it too.”

“I knew you were trouble from the very second I met you, you know,” he'd said, as he got off the couch and wandered over to where she was so diligently working. Liking the way that simple white gold wedding band looked on her finger. He still hadn't gotten used to; it had only been a few months and even with that life growing in her belly, they were still very much enjoying being newlyweds. He liked it. Being a husband. He liked the simplicity and the comforts that came with the little things that took up their new life. Household chores and preparing meals and sharing a bed with the same warm body and beautiful face each and every day. Mundane to some. A welcome change and relief to him. 

“I wasn't the one with the reputation for being difficult,” she'd reminded him. “I wasn't the one who was like a bear with a sole asshole even on his best days.”

“Yet here you are. Playing house with me. A good little wife. Giving me babies. So I must have done something right, huh?” he'd playfully nudged her with his elbow. “You stuck around. Through thick or thin. I put you through a lot of shit and agony and here you are. Here WE are.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily, Tyler Rake. You think you would have realized that by now.”

“Getting rid of you is the last thing I ever want.”

They'd stood in companionable silence; working quickly and efficiently together. Little boring tasks that they almost never got to experience. He'd never take things like that for granted again. And he'd grabbed a pair of her underwear from the fresh pile and hooking them around his finger, grinned as he swung them around.

“How'd we ever graduate to these, huh? These are not what I remember you wearing. You weren't wearing any the first time we...well...you know...”

“You're such a pig,” she'd grumbled, and tried to snatch them away. Frowning when he held them high above his head. Not an easy reach for a woman that only stood five foot three. “What is wrong with you? Seriously.”

“I thought you were trouble the second I met you. The way you shook my hand. The way you smiled at me. But I knew it for sure when I had you pinned against that wall and I put my hand down your shorts and realized that you weren't any underwear. Remember that? That first time? I knew I was in trouble but I didn't want to stop. I couldn't stop. I was surprised you were such a kinky little thing.”

“You've got issues. What is your major malfunction?”

“Nothing wrong with a little visit to the past. Especially when it involves being naked.”

“Would you stop?” she'd perched herself on her tip toes and frantically tried to grab the offending piece of clothing from his grasp. “What's gotten into you?”

“It's what hasn't gotten into you in a while,” he'd retorted, laughing when she'd directed a slap to his gut, his arms circling her waist when she'd lost her balance and tumbled into him. And they'd stood like that; her head against his chest, his eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of her head. Loving all those things about her that had become so familiar and comforting to him. The lingering scent of coconut shampoo that clung to her hair, the feel of her heart beating against him, those small and soft hands stroking up and down his back. This woman...the one that had seen him at his most fragile...who he owed his life to.

Her hands were on the back of his shoulders when she'd pulled away and looked up at him. Her eyes sparkling as she smiled. A smile he had once thought he'd never see again. 

“I love you,” he'd told her. Three words that he had always hesitated on uttering before but now couldn't say enough. If Gaspar was still around he'd call him soft. Tell him he was whipped and a pussy and needed to get his balls back. But he wasn't around anymore. 

A lot of people weren't. 

“I know,” she'd said. “But not nearly as much as I love you.”

“Hey, this isn't a competition. And if it was, I'd win. I always do.”

“You have a very overinflated sense of yourself,” she'd chided. 

He was her rock. He knew that. Even when he was still recovering and he was nothing more than a mere fraction of the man he once was. Even when she had to help nurse him back to health and he'd had to trust her completely with even the mundane things like feeding himself and brushing his teeth. But she'd stuck by him. Even when he felt humiliated that he even needed help with such things. Embarrassed that she was seeing him so vulnerable. Allowing her to see his tears of anger, frustration, and pain. She'd always said that he was the only one that made her feel safe and secure. Protected. Even when he wasn't at his best. 

“Shit...” she'd grimaced when the baby had kicked her especially hard. Eyes closing and her forehead falling onto his chest.

“Even I felt that one,” he'd move one hand from her waist to her ever growing stomach. Marvelling at the way he could feel their baby...his baby...moving inside of her. It may not have been his first time. Not his first child. But he was determined to enjoy every second of it and not take a single moment for granted. “See what I mean? Trouble just like her mom. Feisty as all hell. A boy wouldn't cause this many issues.”

“Boys come with a whole shit load of issues. After all, it was a boy that got me into this situation in the first place.”

“Come on now, I wasn't the only one that was having all the fun. You seemed to be enjoying yourself too. I didn't make this baby all on my own, you know.”

“It was fun,” she'd admitted. “It always is.”

“Yeah. It most definitely is.”

One of her hands came down to rest on top of his and they stood there together, feeling their child moving inside of her. Marvelling at all the kicks and wriggles. At the miracle that they had created. All because two people fell in love during the entirely wrong time and in the entirely wrong place.

“You need to take it easy there, sweetheart,” he'd spoken to his daughter, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles. “Go easy on your mum, okay? Daddy's already put her through enough to last a lifetime.”

“She listens to you already. She likes your voice.”

“Already takes after her mother. Isn't that one of the first things you said you liked about me? My voice?”

“It does funny things to my insides. Even now.”

“I like doing funny things to your insides,” he'd dropped a kiss on the top of her head and she'd looked up at him once again. 

“I think we should go to bed.”

“It's only eight thirty.”

“I don't mean to sleep. I mean to do other things. Fun things. Things that help you sleep better.”

A slow grin had spread across his face.

He didn't need to be told twice.

*******

“What's going on in here?” he asks as he steps alongside the crib, where his tiny baby girl has managed to to shed herself of her tight swaddling and was preparing to whip herself up into a frenzy. She has his temper already; slow to anger but almost impossible to control once the fuse was fully lit. “What kind of trouble are you getting up to in here? How'd you get yourself into such a mess? Clever little thing, aren't you.”

The crying dies down. Settling down to a mere whimper. She recognizes her daddy's voice. His face. And she knows she's in good hands. The wailing replaced by an impossibly dramatic pout on someone so young.

“You really are your mother's daughter,” he says. “I recognize that look anywhere. How does a little one like you get yourself into trouble? Look at you...” he untangles the receiving blanket from between her legs and scoops her up from the crib. Lifting her to the safe and warm confines of his chest. A forearm supporting her bum, his palm on the back of her head. “It's okay now,” he croons, and presses a kiss to the side of her head. She has his hair; same texture and colour. His eyes. Even his nose and lips. He can hear his wife now. Complaining about doing all the leg work and going through all the pain, only to have the baby coming out looking just like him. “Daddy's here now. Everything is fine. You're okay now.”

After a quick diaper change, he carries her through the apartment and into the kitchen. That tiny little body laying perfectly along his forearm as he warms a bottle from the fridge. She fits so perfect in the crook of his arm; head nestled into the valley on his elbow, feet by his wrist. She's long. Lanky. Just like he'd been as a kid. “You're probably wondering why I'm out here doing this,” he speaks as he waits for the bottle to warm. “You know this is usually your mummy's thing. Getting up in the middle of the night. And I know she doesn't exactly use these silly things to feed you. But I thought we'd be nice and let her sleep. She does a lot for us, you know. She deserves to sleep.”

He sits on the couch as he feeds her; both feet on the coffee table, knees bent with her lying along his thighs. One hand holding the bottle and the fingers of the other exploring every inch of her. She is wondrous; big blue eyes and impossibly long dark lashes and freckles across the bridge of her nose. And has he talks to her in a deep and soothing tone, her gaze is focused intently on him. Eyes never leaving his, one of her tiny hands reaching for the hand that holds the bottle, all fingers curling around just one of his. He had forgotten what this was like. The pure magic of being a father. Knowing that you had helped create something so incredible. That you had played a part in bringing another human being into this world.

As crazy and fucked up as the world could be, that is. It gave him a sense of peace. The knowledge that when the end came, he'd go knowing that he had done something truly good and valuable with his life. 

He stands and carries her over to the balcony window. Once again holding her with a forearm under her bum and a firm hand on the back of his head. “You see that out there...” he nods towards the skyline; twinkling lights of skyscrapers and glowing street lights and blazing stars. “...that can be a real scary place. There's a lot of really bad people out there. But there's a lot of really good people too. People that would protect you, no questions asked. People that already love you without even really knowing you. And somewhere out there, is some guy that's going to come into your life and probably break your heart. And you know what? That's okay. It's okay to get your heart broken. Because it makes you a better person. It makes you stronger. Even if you think it's going to kill you at the time.”

She stares up at him with those huge blue eyes. With so much wonder and trust that it it causes a lump of emotion to gather in his throat and blur his vision.

“You know, there was almost a time where this might not have happened. Where I might not have been here. Where it might have just been you and your mom. And if it wasn't for your mom, I probably wouldn't be here. She's something else, you know. She's the bravest and strongest person I've ever met in my entire life. And there were so many times where this could have been too much for her...where I could have been too much for her...and she could have just walked away. But she never did. She never gave up on me. Even when I was ready to give up on myself. She's the one you need to worry about, you know. She jokes around that I'm going to be the one that scares all the boys away but I have a feeling it's going to be her. She doesn't let anyone mess with the people she loves. She's a momma bear. She's ferocious and she's loyal and she will f...” he bites his tongue “...mess someone up if she needs to. I was even kind of scared of her when I first meet her. Not because she's scary looking or I was afraid she'd hurt me. Mind you, she probably could if she got mad enough. Like how she gets when I leave the toilet seat up in the middle of the night. She scared me because I'd never felt that way about anyone. At least not that quickly. You can be the strongest person in the world, but when that one person comes along, you can't stop it. No matter if the timing isn't right. No matter how screwed up things are. Even if it is the wrong place, wrong time. You're powerless. Your heart just takes over. The important thing you have to remember is that you let your heart and your head work at the same time. That's the only way things will be okay. Or at least that's how it worked for your mom and I.”

He adjusts his hold on her, bringing her up to rest against his chest. Fingers combing through her thick, silky hair, his other hand softly stroking her back.

“Your mom came into my life when I'd pretty much given up on everything. When I didn't even feel human any more. Where nothing mattered. She came into my life and rescued me. In every way a person can rescue someone. And I know she'll probably deny that if you ask her. She'd say that I'm the brave one. That I'm the one that rescues people. But she had the toughest job out of them all. I'm not the easiest person to love. And she knew that. Yet here she is. A year later and she's still sticking around. Still putting up with my crap. So I must be doing something right, yeah? She hasn't smothered me with a pillow in my sleep or put poison in my food or put a hit out on me.”

“You just had to ruin the moment,” that soft voice says from behind, and he watches her reflection through the window as she journeys over to them. Chestnut hair messy from sleep and falling loose to the middle of her back. She is heavier now; softer and curvier in all the right places. Having a baby will do that to you. But she's still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Even more so decked out in one of his shirts; the fabric hanging to well below her knees, sleeves rolled and bunched just about her elbows. “What are you two doing? It's late. Or really early. Depending on how you look at it.”

“We're just having a little daddy daughter bonding time.”

She squints her eyes and peers at the clock on the nearby wall. “It's ten after three.”

“Time means nothing when you have a baby. She doesn't know what time it is. And I barely sleep, so...”

“So what does this bonding time consist off? Shit talking me?”

“I only said that last part because I knew you were behind me. I said all good things, I swear. And I was telling her all my best stories.”

“Lord I really hope not,” she rubs his shoulders and presses a kiss to his back before sidling up beside him. “All your best stories are gory.”

“I'm saving those ones for when she's old enough to be able to kick someone in the balls if they're bothering her. So she doesn't have to rely on a brother to do it.”

“Not even two months into this and you're already contemplating another? Good luck doing that yourself. Let me know how it works out for you.”

The subject had come up once or twice. About whether or not this was a one off or there were other children in their future. After he'd lost his son and given up on life, he hadn't thought there'd be any other kids. It wasn't as if he lived the kind of life he'd be proud to bring a child into it. She'd been a complete surprise. They thought they'd been careful. Apparently they hadn't been careful enough.. But she wasn't a mistake. Far from it. A happy accident was more like it. Now that he'd gotten his feet wet again in the parenting pool, he was open to having more kids. He craved it, actually. Another two or three. And a modest house on a good parcel of land. Somewhere close to the beach. With a window that looked into the backyard that he could watch his children through. Where he could grow old and gray with the love of his life.

But he still had a lot of shit to deal with before any of that could happen.

She yawns loudly and steps in front of him; both arms wrapping around his waist she lays her head against him. “Are you okay?”

“Best I can be, I guess. Little sore. But what else is new.”

She just nods. She knows it goes beyond being 'a little sore'. She had seen the extent of his injuries. She'd lived out the horror right alongside of him. It had been his blood that soaked her that day on the bridge. But she also knows he isn't the type you fawn over. He doesn't like the attention. Feeling as if he's weak. Or that he may be a burden. He was still trying to get that confidence back. The ego takes a serious beating when you're left unable to do even the smallest of tasks for yourself. “You're having trouble sleeping?”

“When haven't I had trouble sleeping?”

“But it's worse now, isn't it. I know how many times you get up in the middle of the night. It's worse now.”

“Just a stage,” he assures her. “I'll be fine. How many times have we been through this, huh? How many times do I have to tell you not to worry about me?”

“A million. But I still won't listen.”

“That's never going to change,” he teases. “You didn't listen to me a year ago and you don't listen to me now. And you wonder why I say your daughter is going to be trouble.”

She grins up at him. “Why does she become just my daughter when you talk about trouble?”

“Because we both know who the real trouble maker is in this relationship,” he retorts, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

In silence they watch their daughter; the way her eyes shift between the two of them before slowing beginning to close, a yawn escaping her mouth. A surprisingly large one that ends in a tiny squeak. He's in awe of her. Of how tiny and fragile she is. How he'd managed to make something so amazing.

“She's beautiful,” he speaks around a lump of emotion that sits square in his throat. His emotions have been raw since that day in Dhaka. And even more so since becoming a father for a second time. He can hear Gaspar in his head again. Talking about how soft he was becoming. That he didn't even recognize him any more. That growing a heart this late in the game was going to be his biggest downfall and his most relentless enemy. “Like her mother.”

“She looks just like you.”

“I honestly don't see it,” he hopes he sounds a least a tad sincere. 

His wife gives a derisive snort. “You have some seriously strong genes, Tyler Rake. Imagine if we had a boy? Probably be your splitting image. By the way...” she rubs his stomach and smiles up at him. “...you do the really big, strong man with a tiny baby thing very well. It's kind of sexy.”

“Just kind of? I was going for totally sexy. Insanely sexy. You might as well said mediocre sexy.”

“Don't expect me to stroke your ego at three in the morning.”

“Why not? Not like you've been stroking anything else lately.”

“Shhhh...” she places a finger over her lips. “...there's innocent ears in this room.”

“She's asleep. And even if she wasn't, she wouldn't understand what I was saying anyway. Besides, she's going to end up learning where she come from sooner or later.”

“Well let's make that later. Much later. And mediocre sexy? Really? As if you could ever be anything other than out of the world sexy.”

“You're lucky. I was going to have to file for divorce if you called me 'average sexy'.”

“You're too much,” she giggles, and dropping one of her arms from around his waist, runs the palm of her hand along the baby's hair. “And you're right. She is beautiful. She is perfect.”

“It's hard to believe sometimes, isn't it? That we made her? During all that craziness and all that madness, we actually made a life together. Surreal, huh? That something so beautiful could come out of all of that?”

“A lot of beautiful things came out of that. We just have a hard time recognizing what they are sometimes.”

He nods in agreement. Sniffling noisily and swallowing heavily when the weight of emotion becomes almost too much to bear. He's never had to hide this side of himself when it came to her. After all, she was the one who'd successfully bulldozed all of his walls to the ground. So it comes as no surprise to either of them when the tears finally do come; blazing hot against his skin, the taste of salt stinging his lips.

“Baby...” she turns to face him, reaching up to take his face in her hands. “...what's wrong? What...?”

“Nothing's wrong. I just...” he struggles to find the words, inhaling deeply and releasing a shaky breath. “...thank you...” he says. “...for her. For you. For us.”

“I think you played a pretty big part in her being here,” she reminds him. “It's not like I did this alone.”

“I don't deserve all of this. I don't deserve her. I don't deserve you. This...this life...” he shakes his head. “...this was meant for someone else. A better man than me.”

She chews pensively on her bottom lip and regards him through her own tears. He knows she won't let them come. She's been the one holding back lately. When they'd met, she'd been the high strung and overly emotional one. Always on edge. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'd been that calm, cool, and collected one. The one that held shit together when it threatened to blow apart. Talking her down off the ledge while trying to keep both of them...and eventually Ovi...alive. Since the baby she'd changed. Her motherly instincts and her love for their child could never be matched by anyone else. But she had closed herself off in other ways. She became the strong and silent one. The one who always held her emotions in check. He figured it was all that time she spent helping him get back on his feet. What she'd seen and had to endure would harden anyone. 

But he'd be lying if he didn't say he wasn't concerned. If he didn't find himself wishing for that emotional and broken girl she'd once been.

She was out there. And he knew where.

She was still back in Dhaka. 

Still standing on that bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: smut, profanity
> 
> Feel free to leave comments! Writers love that kind of thing ;)

It is just shy of ten am when he returns to the apartment; the smell of eggs and bacon and fresh coffee greeting him the moment he steps through the door. He can hear the clatter of plates and silverware coming from the kitchen. The chatter of the morning news playing on the counter top radio. In the living room the television is on mute but tuned into an international news station, and for a moment he stands and watches the screen, eyes following the headlines that speed across the bottom of the screen. News of terrorist activity in the middle east, wall street issues, unrest in the White House, an upswing of drug trafficking and related violence and killings in India. For a brief moment his breath catches in his chest; mentions of Bangladesh and Dhaka that cause a shiver to pass through his entire body. The hair at the back of his neck stands on end; he feels nauseous and dizzy. 

PTSD the therapist has said. Normal for someone that had been through what he had. An extremely near death experience, times in the army, the death of a child. It makes him feel weak. Powerless. Going to a stranger to talk about feelings? That was the kind of shit he dreaded. Yet there he was, once a week for the past six fucking months. Telling tales of brutality and gore to some middle aged man whose only experience with violence and warfare was knowing his kid played Call of Duty. He hated every fucking second of it. Counting down the minutes until it was over. But he'd promised that he'd go. That he wouldn't keep shit bottled up inside and turn back to the bottle. If he wanted his marriage to work and last he would do it. It had been Nik's idea. She saw the demons he continued to struggle with and recognized how haunted and troubled he was. And together she and his wife had banded together and offered up some tough love. 

What he wouldn't give for a drink right now. The ghost of old habits nibbling at his soul. He fights it; toeing off his dirty sneakers and leaving them by the front door. His fingers momentarily pausing on the deadbolt and chain lock. Normally they didn't even bother to lock it unless they left for the day or had gone to bed. But this morning he can't stop himself as he snaps that bolt into place and drags the chain across the door.

Get your shit together, he orders himself, palms flat on the door, chin to his chest and his eyes closed. Get your head out of your ass and get a grip. She doesn't need this. Neither of them need this.

He composes himself; using the towel he'd slung around his neck to clear off his face and scrub at his sweaty hair. He wanders into the living the living room and snags the remote control from the coffee table; the news has moved on to the latest sports scores. He turns it off anyway.

She's in the kitchen, preparing food in front of the stove. Barefoot and clad in a simple white t shirt and pair of yoga pants that hug the delicious curves of her hips and her ass. Hair tossed up into a ponytail and a simple pair of diamond stud earrings sparkling on her lobes. One of the things he'd been able to get her when they'd finally gotten a hold of a small bit of money from the shit show that was Dhaka. She deserved the world. 

And he'd give it to her if he could. Yet she's a simple woman with a fairly simple tastes; she's happy with a roof over her head and food on the table and his warm body beside her in bed every night. They live humbly yet happily; that small apartment close to the hustle and bustle of the city. His extended hospital stay and the need to be near specialists and therapists had made moving an easy decision. And his shack hadn't exactly been the ideal place to keep a wife and raise a family. 

“I knew we'd get to this point sooner or later,” he grins, and standing behind her lays his hands on her hips and leans down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth “You in the kitchen. Barefoot and...”

“Don't even let that word come out of your mouth, Mister Rake. You've got extremely strong swimmers. You just utter that word and it will probably happen. It is too soon. Way too soon.”

“A lot of people have kids really close together,” he reasons, his palms moving in slow circles on her hips. “One right after another.”

“Well we aren't a lot of people. We talked about this. You even said you wanted to wait at least a year.”

“I did,” he agrees. “But that was before she actually got here. Now I'm thinking another one right away wouldn't be so bad. They'd be really close in age, always have each other's back, be able to always play together.”

“They can still do that if there's a year or two between them.”

“Closer we put all the rugrats together, the more we can have,” he gently argues. 

This is a huge bone of contention between them: his sudden unexplainable desire to breed. But the need is powerful. Almost overwhelming. That nagging feeling that impending doom lies just around the corner. That there is something out there...someone out there...waiting to take everything away from him. Maybe it was the fact the year anniversary of his near death experience was creeping up on him. Or maybe it was because he truly loved being a father and wanted to be surrounded by a posse of little ones. But he couldn't shake it. As if he was immersed in an eerie calm before a storm. 

She is grinning as she turns towards him, ass resting back against the edge of the stove. There's a sparkle in those dark eyes that he hasn't seen in a while. He knew this time of the year wouldn't be easy on her. And he hated himself for that. Despised himself for what he had put her through. If he'd only pushed harder; if he'd only forced her to leave instead of selfishly keeping her with him on those dark and grimy streets. 

“How many do you want to have?” she asks “I'm not exactly cut out to be a baby making machine.”

“I don't know about that. You handled the first one pretty well. You made it look pretty damn easy.”

“Well it wasn't. It was worth it. But it wasn't easy.” Constant morning sickness, having to keep herself and their unborn baby healthy while trying to take care of him. Her fingers trace the wording on the front of his muscle shirt; her touch soft yet unmistakably needy at the same time. That need for physical contact. The reminder that he was actually standing there in front of her. That this wasn't all some kind of dream. “So are we talking one more? Two more?”

“I was thinking a whole rugby team actually,” he teases, as his hands slide around to cup her ass. “I mean, if you have two or three at a time, we'd have a whole team pretty quick, yeah?”

“Two or three at a time? You're swimmers are good, but they're not that good. What's gotten into you lately? You've brought this up six times in the last week alone.”

“I just figure I'm not getting any younger. I still want to be able to get down on the ground to play with my kids. I don't want to be some feeble old man trying to do it. Things aren't going to get any better. You know what the doctor said. There's nothing that can take the pain away completely. Believe me, if there was, I'd do it. So I just figure why not have a whole bunch of rug rats before I'm totally crippled up and I can't enjoy them.”

“You make a very solid argument,” she says, and her hands reach up to his face. Knuckles brushing against his beard. “Why do you have to look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Have you looked at your face? Your stupidly beautiful face. Why do you have to look like that?”

“You'll have to blame my parents for that, I suppose.”

“Your face makes it very hard to resist you. And the way you look at me...those eyes...”

“What way?” he grins down at her, knowing exactly what she is talking about. The way his eyes narrow when he's intently watching her; the blue surrounded by impossibly long and dark lashes. 

“And you call me trouble! Don't use those eyes against me. You know I can't resist them. You're dangerous.”

“Dangerous in all the best ways,” he says, and leans down to kiss her. Long and soft and sweet, his face in the palms of her hands. His hands kneading her ass, then tightly gripping it and pulling her flush against him. Deepening that kiss just a little; the tip of his tongue pushing into her mouth and briefly brushing against hers before he pulls away. 

“You need to stop being so good at that,” she sighs. “At so many things.”

“All the things you like. That drive you crazy.”

“You were a pretty fast learner,” she chides, and pushes his hair away from his forehead. “Not that you needed that much help. You're a skilled man in many ways, Tyler Rake. Especially behind closed doors.”

“Well what can I say? I aim to please.”

“And you do. Each and every time. But right now...” she pushes him away and turns back towards the stove. “...you need to get some food into you.”

“I'm not hungry,” he presses himself against her, one hand tightly gripping her hip as his other hand slips between her and the stove. Sliding down her stomach and then between her legs; gently brushing over her clothed mound before travelling upwards once again. “At least not for food.”

He uses his full body weight to keep her pinned between him and the stove. The hand that was on her hip moving up to the back of her neck. Fingertips slowly gliding across the silky skin. Feeling the goosebumps that pop up on her flesh and the way she shudders against him. Hears the way her breath hitches. And he knows he has her exactly where he wants her. He is much bigger. Stronger. And knows he can use them to his advantage. That once he has her where he wants her...teetering on the edge...that she won't struggle against him. It is the dynamic she enjoys the most. How he uses his strength and his power to seduce her. She likes when he has control. When he is aggressive and rough. And it's surprisingly how a body that small and seemingly fragile can take the punishment he sometimes unleashes on it. 

“It's going to get ruined,” she frets.

“For fuck sakes,” he growls, and reaches to turn down the stove burners to their lowest setting. “It'll be fine. Stop being a fucking brat. Baby's sleeping?”

“Maybe not for much longer.”

“It won't take that long,” he assures her, and he presses his groin against her. “See what you do to me? You talk about how I drive you crazy. Look how crazy you drive me. Look what you do me. Feel what you do to me.”

His hand moves up the front of her shirt; travelling up her stomach and over her ribs. And he grins when he discovers bare skin as opposed to any undergarments. A calloused palm brushing against her breast before his long and nimble fingers tug and pinch at the nipple.

She whimpers. Eyes closing. Her teeth digging into her bottom lip. And his finger continues to tease and manipulate as his other hand moves from the nape of her neck to her hair; wrapping her ponytail in his fist and roughly yanking her head to the side. Blazing a trail of hot and moist kisses over her ear and down to the side of her throat. His tongue feeling that vein that pulsates under her skin; his teeth scraping along it before biting down.

“Fuck!” she exclaims. Yet it's neither a real complaint or a request to stop. It's the game they play. The one that riles her up and causes her to lose all control. Where she allows herself to be completely submissive and the old Tyler comes out to to play. The one that can be merciless. Savage. Assertive and aggressive. The one that likes to be in control. And who was he to deny her what she enjoyed the most?

With one hand in her hair and the other between her legs, he effortlessly moves her to a safer spot. Pressing her against the edge of the kitchen sink. A knee wedged between her thighs to keep her where he wants her. His mouth continuing its assault; teeth, lips, tongue. All working together to drive her insane. 

“You like this, huh?” his voice is low against her ear. Menacing, almost. And he feels another shudder pass through her and he can't help but smirk. So easy. Like taking candy from a baby. “You like this Tyler, don't you. This is your favourite Tyler.”

It's not exactly his favourite Tyler. There's always a nagging feeling of guilt that comes afterwards. When the rush and the pleasure has worn off and he has time to think about what had happened. The things he'd said. The way he'd manhandled her. And then he would see the bruises and marks he left behind and absolutely fucking hate himself. But then he'd turn around and do it all over again. Visiting that former version of himself that turned her on and got him what he wanted. 

“Did you hear me?” he snarls, and tightens his grip on her hair. “I asked you a question. I asked you if you like this.”

She nods.

“Naw...you don't get out of this that easily...I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you tell me. That this is the Tyler you like the best. He's mean and he's rough and that's what you like isn't it? No. Not just like. You love it.”

“Yes,” it is all that she can manage. Any other words and conscious thinking thrown clear out the window when he bites at the side of her neck and shoves a hand down the front of her shorts. The moisture that gathers there coating his hand. The heat bathing him. And without warning, he shoves two fingers inside of her, loving the way she cries out and shoves her ass back against him. 

“You're so wet,” he growls, roughly fingering her as he rubs his still clothed cock against her. “You're so fucking wet and so fucking tight and you feel so fucking good.”

She reaches back in a vain attempt to touch him and he catches her by the wrist. 

“You know the rules, sweetheart. This is all about you. You don't get to touch me.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but he pushes his fingers in as far as they will go and curls them at the tips. Effectively coming in contact with that sweet, magical spot she always thought was a myth. One that he had taken the effort and time to find all those many months ago in that dingy, squalid motel room in Dhaka. They have come along way since then, but the game remains the same. And it brings back memories. Sounds. Sights. Smells. Memories of two broken people finding one another when they least expected to. Two injured and weary souls exploring every inch of one another. Memories of whispered confessions and deep and darkest fears in those quiet moments afterwards. When their bodies had settled and he had held her in those arms and it had felt as if nothing existed outside of that room.

“That's a good girl,” he praises. “Such a good girl for me. Such a good and obedient girl.” He licks and suckles at her neck, effectively marking a spot in that spot between her neck and shoulder. Childish, perhaps. But he liked to mark his territory. He liked others knowing who and what belonged to him. “I said no...” he snarls, when her hand reaches back once more, and he removes his fingers from inside of her and then puts them in his mouth and sucks them clean. “...I love the way you taste...always have...always will...here...” he reaches around and pushes a finger into her mouth. “...this is what I do to you...this is how I make you feel...”

She glances over her shoulders never leaving his as she suckles at his fingers. It is much more than even he can take, and a smirk plays on his lips as he yanks her her shorts down and over her hips and ass, letting them fall to her ankles. 

“Open your legs, “ he orders, and then uses a knee to shove them apart when he isn't completely satisfied with her respond. “I said fucking open them. Don't touch me. Don't move. I'm in charge? Got it?”

She manages a feeble response and a small nod, and the fingers of one hand bite into her hip as the other pushes down his own shorts. Kicking them off, he places a hand on the back of her head and forces her face down onto the counter, tangling his fingers in her hair once more as his other hand wraps around his cock and lines the head up at her entrance. Slamming into her with enough force that her own body jerks forward and she cries out. 

He doesn't let it up. It's gone too far for that. And what happens is next is a pure and uncomplicated fuck. Quick and rough. Using her for nothing more than his own release. He was going to hate himself for it. Later he'd stand in a steaming hot shower and absolutely rip into himself. He'd beat himself up over being too rough. For falling back into old habits too easily.. For going along with this little game. It was enjoyable. At the time. But the after effects were long lasting. 

Even with that knowledge he doesn't stop. One hand on the back of her head holding it to the counter, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises as he drives into her at a relentless, savage pace. Until he can feel that pressure building up in the pit of his stomach and the small of his back and his hand leaves his hip in favour of finding her clit. Rubbing and pulling at it until the orgasm takes hold of her; every muscle in her body tightening as she comes undone, his name leaving her lips in a scream that's muffled by the laminate counter top. Continuing to thrust through those clenching inner muscles until he's coming himself; a litany of profanities spewing forth from his mouth as he explodes inside of her. Bathing her insides with thick, hot cum. 

His legs shake. New droplets of sweat bead on his forehead, trickle down his temples and gather at the nape of his neck. He holds her tight against him until he spills every last drop. Then his hand drops from the back of her head and rests on the counter; eyes closing as his head falls forehead and lays against her back. And they stay that way for what seems like an eternity. Until their breathing has settled and their bodies have stopped quaking. 

He places a hand on her cheek and turns her face towards her. Amused by her satisfied, almost giddy grin. “You okay?” he asks. “Was I too rough?”

“I'm okay,” she replies. “And you were perfect.”

He kisses her. Slowly. Tenderly. “I need to take a shower,” he says, as pulls out and steps away, his once rough and needy hands now gentle and caring as he pulls her shorts back up her legs and settles them on her hips. 

“You are pretty ripe,” she informs him, nose crinkling in disgust. 

He gathers up his shorts and steps back into them. Then lays a hand on the side of her face and kisses her once more. His eyes search her face; looking for any sign of regret. He watches her as he trails his fingertips along her cheek and her jaw, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I know,” she says. “And ditto.”

He doesn't need to say the words. They are written as pure as day on his face. Evident in his eyes. In the way he regards her with the utmost tenderness and respect. As if she is the most beautiful woman on the planet that he has ever seen.


	3. Chapter 3

The beach is his favourite place. The sounds and smell of the ocean. The way the sunlight glistens and dances on the rippling water. It is his ultimate escape; the sun's warm and relaxing rays, the texture of the powdery sand between his toes. He's blessed to have a place like this so close to home. A place that he can share with his two most favourite people in the world. It's where they have their best conversations. Where they both feel the most relaxed; calmed by the lapping of the ways and the laughter and chatter of passing families. He sits with his legs stretched out in front of him; sunglasses on, back resting against the cooler of snacks and drinks behind him. A bottle of Gatorade on one side of him and his wife and daughter on the other. 

He watches them out of the corner of his eye; the baby in the middle of the blanket enjoying some 'tummy time', clad in a white swimsuit dotted with bright rainbow fish, a tiny sunhat perched a top of her head. His wife in that simple yet sexy black one piece bathing suit, an undearmour ball cap she'd snagged from his side of the room pulled low on her forehead, her legs folded crisscrossed and her eyes riveted on the book in her lap.

He reaches out and runs his fingers along her arm, and she casts a glance in his direction. Softly smiling as she entwines her fingers with his and places their joined hands on her thigh.

“Bloody hot today,” he says, as he runs his left hand over his face. The metal of the white gold wedding band he sports cool against his face. He takes a swig of the Gatorade and places the bottle between his thighs. Eyes closing as he leans his head back against the cooler. 

He isn't sure how much time has passed when he hears her voice. Did he drift off? Did he manage to catch a half an hour of sleep? Or had it just been a few minutes? The position of the sun hasn't changed. But the baby is now on her back and Esme has abandoned the book in favour of dangling a plush singing koala over their daughter's head. The baby is starting to change; she's starting to focus more, her eyes responding to to their voices or activity going on around her. She smiles now; a smile that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. His smile. 

“There's trouble in Dhaka,” Esme says, her eyes never leaving the baby, the smile never fading. But he sees the tension in her shoulders. He hears it in her voice. She's tried to pass the comment off so smoothly and naturally. But he hears it. Loud and clear.

He sighs. “I know.”

“Apparently it is some cronies of Asif. I guess we really shouldn't be surprised. It was bound to happen. Guys like that have an army of rats behind him. I guess those rats have been hiding long enough. They're back out scurrying around and chewing shit up.”

“That's Dhaka's problem to worry about. Not ours.”

“It won't be long until it's on our doorstep. Nik will call soon. Don't be surprised.”

“She can call all the fuck she wants. There's nothing I can do to help. Best I can do is train some guys and give out advice and come up with plans. That's where I'm at these days.” 

Hardly the role he played in the past. But at least it was something. He least he wasn't crippled up somewhere. Or dead. At least he could bring home some kind of pay check and provide for his family.

“You're a hundred times better than you were a year ago. And she knows that. She'll expect more from you.”

“Let her. I know my limits. I'm not the man I was a year ago. You think I'm close to it. I'm not. You have too much faith in me.”

“Well...” she sighs. “...someone has to have faith in you.”

And there it is. The honest to goodness truth. She's not saying it to be hurtful. He knows that. She's saying it because he needs to hear it. 

“Why are we even talking about this?” Tyler inquires, trying not to let the aggravation seep from his voice. 

“Just making conversation.”

“Bullshit. If you were just making conversation, you'd talk about the book you were reading. Or where we're going to go for lunch. Or how you wish the baby was old enough to learn how to swim and surf. That's the kind of stuff you usually talk about.”

She drags her teeth against her bottom lip. The smile is gone now. Those eyes have darkened. 

“What's going on?” he presses. “You're usually the one asking me that but now it's my turn. What's wrong?”

“Ovi messaged me,” her hand tightens around his. She doesn't look at him. “While you were at the gym this morning.”

Usually he's the one that Ovi is contacting. Texts. Emails. Facetime. She and the kid are tight, but nowhere near as tight as he is with Tyler. They lived thousands of miles away but they kept the bond alive. Ovi had followed every step of his medical journey and his rehab and his struggle to get back on his feet. He'd come to their wedding. Met their daughter through a live feed. He even liked to call himself 'Uncle Ovi'. And Tyler had taken him under his wing once again. This time providing him with the guidance and the nurturing that only a father can do for their teenage son. And he was the closest thing that kid had to a father. 

Ovi Sr was very much still alive. But might as well have been very much dead.

“Why? Why would he message you?”

“I guess he was worried to message you about it. I guess he was worried how you'd react. That maybe you'd get mad that he even brought it up.”

“Instead you bring it up so I can get mad at you.”

She frowns “That's is not why I brought it up. I didn't want this turning into a fight, Tyler. I wasn't trying to make you mad.”

“I'm not mad,” he assures her. “Annoyed as fuck, but not mad.”

Sighing, she finally looks at him. And he hates what he sees. That haunted look that registers on every inch of her face. And he hates himself for being that one that put it there. And out of reassurance, he lifts their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“He's worried,” she says. “He's been getting phone calls. Messages. Letters.”

“From who?”

“He doesn't know. He doesn't recognize the writing.”

“What do they say?”

“They're threats mostly. About watching his back. Needing eyes on the back of his head. How is big, bad bodyguard isn't around any more. I think they think you're dead.”

“Good. Let them think that.”

“He's worried, Tyler. He's scared. He's lost. He doesn't know what to do.”

“I'll call him later. I'll help him figure something out.”

“I told him that maybe he should come here, but he doesn't want to leave home. And he has friends and school and it wouldn't be fair to him to give all the up and come to Australia.”

“I said I'd figure something out. I always do.”

“I mean, he said he'd come here if he had to. But he doesn't want to be that far from his dad. Not like he has anything to do with his father, but still.”

“He already has guys watching him. I'll talk to Nik. Get a few more sent over there.”

“It won't matter how many she sends or how many are there. None of them are you.”

Fuck me, he thinks, and once more wishes for a drink. Something strong. Something powerful enough to wash down that uneasiness that sits in his throat. It settles in his chest; gnaws at his stomach.

“We're not talking about this,” he says. “Not here. Not now. Not ever.”

“He's in trouble, Tyler. You can't ignore that.”

“Didn't you hear me the first time? I said I'd get Nik to send more guys there. We're not going down this road. We're not talking about this.”

“You're the only one he trusts. That he fully trusts.”

“Is this really the hill you want to die on? I love you and I'd lay down my life for you. In a heartbeat. But you need to stop. Stop while you're ahead. Because this is a rabbit hole you do not want to fall down.”

“You can try and push this way. You can try and push me away. But this is happening. This is a real threat. Real trouble. And he trusts you, Tyler. He needs you.”

“And I love that kid like my own. You know that. But you know who also needs me? You know who needs me more than he does? My family. My wife. My child. They need me way more than he does. And I'm not fucking good to either of you when I'm thousands of miles away.”

“I didn't say you have to go alone.”

He gives an incredulous laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you listening to yourself? Are you hearing what you're saying? This is fucking ridiculous,” he huffs, and yanking his hand out of hers, attempts to get to his feet. But she grabs him by the forearm with a surprising amount of strength and forces him to sit back down. 

“We ARE having this conversation,” her voice is low. Eyes narrowed. “We ARE talking about this. Because it damn well needs to be talked about. Now. Not later. Because you damn well know that call is going to come. That Nik is going to call and she's going to say all the things I just said. And you'll listen to her. Because for some reason you seem to ignore me but listen to her.”

“Don't start that shit. She's your friend. Just because her and I had a thing a long time ago, doesn't mean fuck all now. That's the past. You're the present. The future. So don't be bringing petty, childish shit into this. Into our marriage. Don't play those fucking games with me. You've got the wrong guy for that shit.”

“She's going to call. And she's going to say everything I just did. And you know what, Tyler? She'll be right. Just like I am. You can try and ignore this. You can try and pretend that you don't care. But I know you. Better than you know yourself half the time. And if I didn't think this was serious...if I didn't think there was real trouble...I wouldn't bring this up at all. But Ovi needs you.”

“What can I do for him? Huh? What the fuck can I do? Look at me. I mean really look at me. Past that fucking vision you have of me that you can't seem to let go of. That man...that man you first met...he's dead. He's gone. I can't help him. I can barely help you. Or our daughter.”

“Now who is talking shit?” she retorts. “You need to stop this, Tyler. You need to stop beating yourself up like this. You're the bravest man I've ever known. The strongest I've ever met. Look how far you've come. Look at how well you're doing. If anyone can help, it's you. It's what you do. You help people.”

“When I'm not fucking people up and killing them, you mean?”

“You can't pretend that side of you never existed,” she argues. “You can't pretend that he isn't still inside of you. It's possible, you know. To be this Tyler and THAT Tyler.”

“I cross that line again, I might not be able to cross back. And then what? I become the old Tyler and this life is over. Could you really live with that guy? Be married to him? Have a family with him? Any normal future? Why the hell would you want to?”

“Maybe because I love you, you insufferable pain in the ass. Maybe because I knew the old Tyler. That's the Tyler I fell in love with. The Tyler that reeled me in. And this Tyler...the Tyler you are now...that's just a bonus. But I don't pretend that the other Tyler never existed. He isn't dead to me. He's very much alive. And you know he is. Why do you fight it?”

“Because that isn't who I want to be any more,” he snarls. “That isn't the man I want to be. I want to be a better man. For you.”

“And you are. But I need that old Tyler. And so does Ovi.”

“Jesus fucking Christ...” he mutters, and puts a hand to his forehead as he closes his eyes. He tries to calm himself. Long, slow, deep breaths that he exhales slowly. “I can not believe we are actually talking about this.”

“I figured it would be the best time do it. When you were relaxed and calm and...”

“Don't you think something should have told you that this was the wrong fucking place? The wrong fucking time?” he doesn't even try to bite back the vehemence on his tongue. “This couldn't wait? Until we were home? You had to do this here? Like what the fuck?”

Silence falls between them. He can't remember the last time that a silence was this uncomfortable between them. They rarely fought other than the stupid shit that couples quarrel over. And he very rarely raised his voice towards her. Normally he could walk away before it got that far. But now he felt helpless. Cornered. The last bit of control slipping through his fingers.

“This is bullshit,” he grumbles, and sips at the Gatorade He can't look at her. He just can't. The rage is too raw. And it absolutely disgusts him that he feels that way towards her. “Why would you do this?” his voice is low as his eyes survey the horizon. The sparkling blue water, the clouds that hang low in the sky, the people that frolic in the surf. “Why the hell would you bring this up? Not just here. But at all.”

“I wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't serious,” she sounds like she's going to cry. Or strangle him. Maybe even both. “Tyler...please...please look at me...”

“I can't,” fuck he hates himself. He despises feeling this way. Especially towards her. “I just can't.”

“You have to. Please. Please look at me.”

He inhales a sharp breath and then exhales solely before turning to look at her. Keeping those sunglasses on so she can't see the tears that threaten. Tears of anger. Frustration. Regret. So many emotions that he detests. 

“He needs you, Tyler. Ovi needs you.”

“I can't help him. You know that. What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you do what you need to do. You were a mercenary. You still are. That part is never going to disappear. No matter how hard you try. “

“I can't go down that road again. I can't. I have too much to lose.”

“You aren't going to lose us. I'm not going anywhere. She's not going anywhere. We're in this together. The three of us.”

“I'm not putting you in danger. Not again. Especially not now. We have a family. We have a baby. That needs us. That isn't a life she deserves to be dropped into it. She's just a baby.”

“And she trusts you. I trust you. With my life. With both of our lives. You have to do this Tyler. And I think you know that. And deep down I think you want to.”

“I can't lose you. I can't lose her. I just can't. I can't make those mistakes again.”

“I'm not your ex wife Tyler. And she isn't your son. You have to stop letting that eat you up. You can't change the past. You can't go back and change things. You just can't. And that guilt and that regret? It's only going to keep eating at you. Killing yourself isn't going to bring him back. And I know you'll never see yourself the way that I do. You're always going to think that I have too much faith in you. But I'm never going to hate you the way that you hate yourself. No matter how hard you try.”

He nods slowly, the words hitting home. It isn't the first time they'd had this conversation. But it's the first time she's been this brutally honest.

“Sometimes...” she draws in a shaky breath. “..sometimes I feel like I left you behind on that bridge. That you're here but I still lost you.”

“Well you didn't. And if you ask me, you're the one that's hanging onto this. You can't let it go. You just can't let it go, can you.” It's a statement more than a question. 

“I don't know how you expect me to. I almost lost you. You almost died in my arms. How do I let that go?”

“You fucking remind yourself that I didn't die. That I'm here. You remind yourself until you're sick of hearing it. And then you remind yourself a million times more.”

“It's not that easy,” she shakes her head. “But I wish it was.”

He reaches for her. Yanking off her ball cap and tossing it to the ground, then laying a hand on the back of her head and pulling her into him. She nestles her face in the spot between his neck and his shoulder. That favourite little spot of hers that made her feel safe and warm. And he wraps both arms around slender body and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“Loving her doesn't mean any you don't love him anymore,” she says, 

“How did we get back onto this? Quit going back and forth with things. You're confusing the shit out of me.”

“I know it's what you think. You think because she's here and you love her as much as you do, it means that you're going to forget him. That you're love for him will somewhat diminish. He'd want you to move on, Tyler. He'd want you to be happy. You have so much love to give. I know you don't see yourself that way. But I do. And I bet he did too.”

He doesn't want to talk about it. Not here. Not ever, to be honest. But she is the one person he CAN talk about these things with. The one person that won't judge him. Who won't make him feel like an enormous prick for making the decisions that he did. 

“He would have made a really good big brother,” he muses. “He would have loved her. And she would have loved him. I'm sure of it.”

It's a comforting thought. But the reality of the situation was that if his son hadn't died, his daughter more than likely wouldn't be here. And neither would Esme. His first marriage may have worked out. And he definitely wouldn't have been hell bent on destroying himself. There'd be no Nik. No Ovi. And there would have been no G, or the rest of the team, or Gaspar. 

So many things would be different. And despite the pain and mistakes of the past, he quite enjoys where his life is now. A wife, a child, possibly more in the future. And they wouldn't be sitting here on this beach if he hadn't had made the decision to go to Afghanistan while his son was dying . 

It is truly amazing how one decision can change the entire course of your future.

“You're suffocating me,” she mutters against him. Completely unaware of how tight his hold on her had actually been. 

“That's for all the times you made me drink kale smoothies and watch chick flicks,” he teases, dropping a kiss on the top of her head and tousling her hair.

“I only made you drink smoothies because that's how I hid the Viagra,” she playfully retorts. 

“Of all the things you know would wound me, you pick the worst one?” he pinches her in the side; tickling her until she's giggling hysterically, out of breath and struggling to get away. “What a bitch move. Going right for the manhood. Right for the juggler.”

“I guess I learned from the best,” she says, and then shrieks and elbows him in the gut when he pinches the flesh at her hip. “Don't be such a dick,” she pouts dramatically. 

“I'd make a comment about my dick but you'll accuse me of being a pig and apparently you think I need Viagra so you're never getting the dick ever again.”

“And you say I go for the juggler. That's harsh, Tyler. That is super fucking harsh.”

He gets her in that sensitive spot right behind the knee. Squeezing what little flesh there is until she's flat on her back and using her feet in his gut to try and push him away. Until they're both laughing and passerbys are shooting them curious glances; some shaking their heads at the silliness from grown adults, others smiling along with them. And when he brings on of her feet to her face and bites at one of her toes, she gives a yelp that's loud enough to startle the baby from her nap.

“Now look what you've done,” Esme huffs, as she straightens her bathing suit. “You've woken the beast.”

“She's fine. And don't you talk about my daughter like that. She's a princess. Daddy's princess.”

“A princess who will be able to kick some major ass when she's older.”

“That's the plan,” confirms, and then lays down on his stomach alongside of the baby, resting a hand on her stomach. “Don't listen to that mean old lady. Calling you a beast like that. When she's the one that is a total bitch half the time.”

“Takes one to know one,” his wife shoots back, then lies down on her side across from him. Their tiny daughter safe and secure between them. Esme's hand comes to rest on his; thumb stroking his wrist and the base of his fingers. “Tell me everything is going to be okay, Tyler. Tell me that WE'RE going to be okay.”

“We will,” he promises. “We'll be fine.”

He only hopes he sounds more convincing to her ears than he does to his own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: profanity, angst, arguing, that kind of thing

*****

“I've got a bone to pick with you,” he says to Ovi three hours later. It was a conversation that would be best done in private, but with thousands of miles and countless hours separating them, face time was the next best thing. “A big fucking bone.”

The kid looks good. Taller. Muscled. More mature in the face. It is surprising how someone can change in the course of just a year.

“What did I do?” Ovi laments. “I didn't do anything.”

“Cut the shit, kid. You know what you did. What was the first thing I told you? When Esme gave you her email and her cell number?”

“To make sure that I didn't accidentally send her anything dirty off the internet. And to make sure none of my friends got my phone and sent her dick pics.”

“Okay. What was the second thing I told you then? Do you remember? The second and more important thing.”

His brow furrows as he strains to remember. Then his eyes widen when he realizes his mistake. 

“Yeah, you got it now, don't you, mate. You figured it out. I specifically told you not to message her about serious shit. That if you got any chatter about bullshit going on over there that you were to get a hold of me. Not her. So why the fuck up?”

“I don't know,” Ovi laments. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did it. I just did. I didn't mean to. It just happens.”

“That's the kind of bullshit excuse guys make when they fuck someone else or knock someone up.”

The kid frowns. “What?”

“Never mind. Point is, you opened a whole can of worms over here, mate. You really stirred the shit pot. Can you guess what happened? Can you just guess?”

“You got into a fight?”

“You're damn right we did. And this wasn't your normal fight about leaving the seat on the shitter up or leaving dirty socks on the bedroom floor or drinking the last of the milk straight out of the carton. This was the kind of shit show that happens when your girl asks you if she looks fat in what she's wearing and you say the wrong thing. This was almost months...if not years...of me sleeping on the couch, kid. And I'm sorry but I kind of like sharing a bed with my wife. You're lucky I can't reach through this thing and strangle the ever loving shit out of you.”

“I'm glad you can't. That ending would not be good.”

“No. It wouldn't. You really freaked her out, kid. She's fifty shades of fucked over here. And not fucked in the fun way. Her nerves are all over the bloody place now. She's freaking the hell out. And I'm the one that has to do battle against that demon. Not the particular hill I want to die on.”

“Die? Why would you die? She's going to kill you? I don't want her to kill you because of me. Let me talk to her. Let me...”

“It's a bloody saying, mate. But with the state of the things over here, she just may smother me in my sleep or poison my food. I know you didn't mean to do it, but fuck mate, what a goddamn mess.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just thought...I don't know...I just thought maybe it was better to talk to her. So you wouldn't get upset with me.”

“So I get upset with her instead? Well played, kid. Well played. Don't let it happen again, okay? You come to me. If it is shit like this. She doesn't need it. She's got enough shit to deal with. Don't add to her plate.”

“I'll call her. To apologize.”

“Just leave her alone for now. Let her come to grip with things. It's not a good time right now. She's not in a good place. So do me a favour and just hold off, okay?”

“Okay. I really am sorry, Tyler. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just thought maybe she could help so I wouldn't have to come to you. Please don't hate me.”

“I could never hate you, mate. You know that. So what's up? What's going on? I only got so much out of her before shit hit the fan.”

Ovi delves into a tale of increasingly suspicious and frightening behaviour. What started out as simple hang ups on his cell and home line had someone transformed into dead animals left at the front door, graphic images sent to his email of dead bodies blown apart by bullets, warnings to watch his back when he was out on the street; that he better have eyes on the back of his head. And within the last two days things had really stepped up: extremely vivid descriptions of how and where he would meet his untimely demise.

“Let me guess,” Tyler says. “The bridge.”

Ovi nods. He looks as if he may cry. Or throw up. Or both.

“Mother fuckers,” Tyler mutters, and rakes a hand through his hair. “Did you tell the guys watching you all this? What did they say?”

“They said to just ignore it. That it was probably just someone playing a sick joke.”

“Rookies. You always take this shit seriously. Did you call Nik?”

“She's the one who told me to call you. But I got scared and I called Esme instead.”

“Scared of me? Why?”

“You get so angry. You get so angry and you said the doctor said you're going through a lot of stuff and...”

“Yeah my brain's mighty fucked up but that doesn't mean you keep shit from me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, kid. You should know that by now. Outside of this, how are things going? How's school? What about the cute girl that you said you've been checking out for a while?”

Ovi is clearly relieved with the change in conversations. And he willingly and happily dives into tales of both his school exploits and his social life. The kid's become the hell of a story teller since coming out of his shell'; leaving no stone unturned, no details (even the most trivial out). And his face is content and his voice animated and it's almost enough for Tyler to forget about the shit the kid is dealing with. Alone, without the protection and the guidance of his father, with nothing more than servants, maids, and bodyguards to give him necessary human contact and care. It's a shit life. Sure, the money was great. And everything that came with having that kind of money. But how do you live day in and day out knowing what kind of prick your old man is? Knowing he's responsible for putting drugs out onto the streets and into the hands of vulnerable kids? Always having it on your mind that he was capable of killing another person?

That last part hits hard. He was that man. He was more than capable of taking a life. He'd shown it hundreds of times. And he wonders if he'll ever tell his daughter about that side of him. About his mercenary days. And how she would react to the news. It would suck coming from someone else, he supposed. Honesty was the policy. But how to tell your kids about something like that without totally fucking them up? Without them hating you?

That last part is a brutal kick in the nuts. The thought of his daughter hating of...thinking less of him...well it fucking kills him. And he briefly closes his eyes and struggles to get that thought of his mind.

“Tyler?” Ovi's voice. “Are you okay?”

He gives a reassuring smile. “I'm fine mate. Just a killer headache. It's been a long day. So there's nothing on the girl front? You haven't made your move yet? What's wrong with you?”

“I'm nervous,” he laments. “I don't know what to say to her.”

“I'm going to have to give you some pointers when I get there. Light a fire under your ass.”

“You're coming? Here?”

“Looks like it. But there's a lot to work out. I've got to get a hold of Nik and make some arrangements. It's going to take a few days at least. And my wife won't let me come alone...”

The kid's entire face lights up. “All three of you are coming? I get to meet the baby?”

“I'm not making any promises, okay? There's things that Esme and I need to talk about and work out. But she's pretty adamant about not letting me go alone and I've learned to pick my battles. Do me a favour, would you? Send me those pictures you got. Did you take any photos of the shit sent to the house?”

“Of course. I do remember some things you told me.”

“Send those to me too. What about the calls? You get any numbers?”

“All unknown numbers.”

Tyler knew it was too much to ask for things to be simple for once.

“I want you to send me anything and everything you have. And don't breathe a word of this to anyone around you, got it? Not a word. Not what's happening, not who you've been talking to. Don't even say my name. Less people know, the better. I'm still not sure if those fuckers know I'm alive or not. But let's just be on the safe side for now.” 

They know, he thinks, as Ovi rambles some more about school and the girl he likes and how excited he is that he's going to be getting pointers from someone with experience. His friends know shit, after all. They're just as green and awkward as he is. 

They know I'm alive. That's the only reason for this. They're trying to get me back there. And if they know I'm alive, they'll figure out my name. And once they know my name, nothing will be able to stop them from finding out where I am. Where I live. With my wife and my child.

And suddenly, it all becomes so much more serious than he initially thought.

****

“What are you doing?” Esme asks later, as finds him at the kitchen table, the laptop open in front of him, a pen and a pad of paper off to the side. “Watching porn? Learning new moves? You have to write them down so you'll remember?”

“Smart ass,” he grins, and she stands behind his chair and rubs his shoulders before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He watches as she crosses the room; the way she has to stand on her tip toes to get a coffee mug down from its shelf. That simple movement and the stretch of her arm causing the bottom of her t-shirt to rise up. Not only revealing a slice of the tattoo that covers her entire left rib cage, but gives him a peek of that ass clad in a lacy pair of black boy shorts. “Don't you have any clothes of your own?” he inquires, as she pours a mug of tea from the pot she'd prepared before heading for a shower. “I swear that's all your shit taking up the room in the closet but you're always wearing my things.”

“I like your shirts better,” she replies. “They smell like you.”

That sounds like a good enough reason as any, he supposed.

“Baby asleep?” he asks, as she slips into the chair across from him. 

“Finally. She was hungry again. She is your daughter. A bottomless pit for a stomach” 

“She's growing,” he reasons, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I see it every day. How much she's changing. She pays more attention now. She looks for us when we talk to her. She smiles.”

“And before long she'll be bringing her first boyfriend home and asking to go on birth control.”

His eyes narrow as he stares at her. Long and hard. 

She smiles and innocently sips her tea. 

“Did your father go gray at an early age? Did you give him wrinkles? Cause him to drink excessively?”

“He had five kids altogether. I'm the second last. So he was already a wrinkly, gray haired, borderline alcoholic before I came along. And you know why ? Because had three boys before me.”

“Yeah, I'm sure that is exactly what caused his issues. The three sons that came before the first daughter. “  
“You don't know my brothers,” she reasons. 

It's true. He doesn't. They've never actually come face to face. He's seen pictures and vice versa and he's briefly chatted with them on the phone, but he knows very little about them. Nor do they know much about him. All they really did know was that their sister went on a 'business trip', hooked up with some random Australian, and never went back to Colorado. He was a mystery to them; ex army, someone that travelled a lot for work, got mixed up in some bullshit that ended up with him in the hospital and needing months of recovery. They knew his name. What he looked like. His age and where he was from. 

But that's where the details stopped. Their wedding was small and secretive. She didn't tell her family there was a baby on the way until the last month arrived. Or why she had to be 'laid off' from work. It was messy and complicated; a lot of little white lies gathering into one huge fib. But it was for their own good.

“They're bat shit insane,” she adds. “They're savages.”

“My kind of savage or...?”

“Baby, there is no one out there that is your kind of savage. They're normal savage. They're normal human beings that do normal human being things. And we're...well we're...”

“Fucked up?”

“Well I was going to say complex but you always have had a way with words. 

Leaning back in her chair, she stretches her legs out and rests her feet in his lap. Quietly sipping her tea as his one hand disappears under the table; dragging his knuckles slowly up and down the top of her foot, then along the bottom. Slowly, methodically. His eyes focused on that pad of paper as his right hand mindlessly scribbles and doodles. He's hard to read; a million and one things going through that beautiful head of his. Memories of his previous life. The things he's seen. The things he's done. Replays of conversations that they'd had today on the beach, the argument that they'd found themselves embroiled in. And more than likely some thoughts of Ovi and what ever had happened during their behind closed doors face chat. It wasn't cause for concern when Tyler fell quiet; he was a man of few words, the strong and often silent type. It was when he grew quiet and he got THAT look. Where his brow furrowed and his eyes darkened and he'd absentmindedly (and repeatedly) dragged his top teeth along his bottom lip. That twas when you should worry. 

“What's up?” she asks casually. This is a thin line to teeter upon. Like walking across thin ice that you can hear cracking under your feet. 

“Just tired,” he replies with a small smile, tilting his head to the side and causing his hair to fall across his forehead.

His knuckles continue to brush against her foot; over each toe and down the instep before travelling onto the ankle and down onto her heel and over the bottom. In the past few months he'd become increasingly needy when it came to physical touch. Both seeking it and giving it. Not that that wasn't a welcome change. This is a man who'd had to learn what it was like to love again. And to be loved. “It's been a long day,” he adds. “Too much sun. Always make me tired, you know that.”

She nods slowly, both hands clasped around her mug, the rim pressed against her lips.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “About our fight earlier. For some of the things I said. I didn't mean them. I say shit when I get upset. I lash out when I'm pissed off. Always at the people who don't deserve it. And I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.”

“I know. But to be honest, you were pretty tame. You've said a lot worse over a lot less.”

“Maybe. But I still hate myself for doing it. I shouldn't have snapped like I did. I just wasn't expecting it, you know? It caught me off guard.”

“It's okay,” she assures him, and rubs her toes against his stomach. “And I'm sorry too. It probably wasn't the best time or place to bring all that up.”

“To be fair, that's kind of our history. It's how we met. Letting things happen in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seems to be our go to.”

“Remind me to never tell our daughter that. We're going to have to come up with a really good story for when she asks where she came from. Do you really want to be telling her she was conceived in some flea bag motel in Dhaka while you were trying to rescue a drug dealer's son?”

“Not exactly something you want to tell your kids. We're definitely not a love story that someone would write home about.”

“I don't know. It's the thing movies are made of, don't you think? Two people falling in love in the midst of some crazy shit? Surviving things that would kill most mortals? I'd watch it.”

“Would there be nudity?” he teases. “I'd watch if if there was nudity.”

“If it's about us, there'd be tons of nudity,” she says with a wink, and he can't help but chuckle. Their sex life has always been epic. Right from the very beginning. 

“And I'm sorry for bringing Austin up,” she adds, and he glances up at the mention of his son. “I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have stooped that low.”

“You didn't stoop low. You had a right to bring him up. I know I don't talk about him much. And you know I don't like to talk about him. But you were right. I do think that way. I do feel guilty at times. I feel like a shit father who is forgetting about him. Who doesn't love him anymore because I brought another kid into the world to take his place.”

“She isn't taking his place, Tyler. That isn't why she's here. She's here because two people fell in love and they made something so incredible together. There's no other reason. She's here because she's meant to be. And she's here as her own person. She isn't a replacement.”

“I know. I do. But I can't help but think that way some time. My brain is fucked up. All those fucking pills...” he jerks his head in the direction of the microwave stand. Where a wide variety of medications prescribed in his name take up residence in a locked drawer. Pills for the pain. Pills to help him sleep. Pills for anxiety. Pills for depression. Pills for every single fucking thing under the sun. “...they fuck with my head. Some days I can't even remember what day it is.”

“That's not the pills. That's old age.”

He smirks. “First a Viagra joke and now a crack at my age? Do you want a divorce?”

“Not particularly, no. I kind of like having you around. I think I'll keep you.”

“Yeah? Good. Because I kind of like hanging out here. The food's good. I get my laundry done. I get laid on a regular basis. Things could be a lot worse, I figure.”

“You mean like sleeping on the couch for the rest of your naturally born life?” she teases, and he nods in agreement. Once again they fall into a comfortable silence; no noise except for the tick of the kitchen clock, the slight drip of the tap, and the hum of the laptop's fan. “So?” she eventually asks. “What are you doing?”

Sighing heavily, he turns the laptop to face her. The screen displaying one of the photos that Ovi had sent him: a headless cat with its blood smeared on the front door.

She grimaces. “I won't lie. I wish it was porn you'd been watching.”

“Ovi sent me these. And a whole bunch of others. Just weird and creepy shit for the most part. But whoever is doing this isn't messing around. It's all very deliberate.”

“You don't think they're just trying to scare him.”

“This goes above and beyond just trying to scare someone. This is bonafide psychotic bullshit. Whoever is doing this, they're after him. They're sincere with their threats. They're too invested in this. It's not just some passing fancy or some kid doing shit because they think it makes them look cool. This is the real deal. This is scary shit.”

“So he's definitely in danger.”

“No doubt in my mind. Maybe if it just went as far as the hang ups and the pictures, I'd say it's just someone fucking around. But the dead animals? The threats? The letters? That shit is very real.”

“Someone attached to Asif? Or even someone pissed off at Ovi's father?”

“This is definitely someone that's pissed off that Ovi got away and Asif died. Don't get me wrong; Nik had every reason to shoot him in the fucking head. But it is coming back to bite us all in the ass.”

She nods slowly, considering his words. “What's this?” she inquires, as she leans forward and picks up the note pad.

“Just some research I've been doing. Names mostly.”

Her eyes study what he has scrawled, eyes narrowing at one particular name. “Farhad? That one sounds familiar.”

“It should. That's the little fucker that shot me in the neck and nearly killed me.”

“Hmmm...” she traces a finger over each letter, as if committing it to memory. “...no last name.”

“None that any of my contacts could come up with. I'm sure I'll be able to find him if I put some feelers out.”

“Why would you want to? To kill him?”

“To talk to him. He's probably behind this bullshit. Why would you say kill him right off the hop like that?”

“Well, I wouldn't exactly blame you if you wanted to kill him,” she reasons. “Or if you did kill him. I think it's a reasonable response considering he almost killed you.”

“I'm not out for revenge. I'm out to help Ovi. This isn't about me.”

“But revenge isn't always a bad thing,” she gently argues. “And I think in this case...in our case...it's the only natural response.”

Tyler frowns. “He's a kid.”

“That shot you in the neck.”

“He's still a kid.”

“Why does that matter? Look at what he did.”

“He was only doing it to impress some drug lord dick head. Now he's probably up to shit thinking he's big and bad because he did supposedly kill me. But he's still a kid. A fucked up kid. But still a kid.”

“A kid that tried to fucking kill you!” she snaps, and he blinks at the anger in her voice. It's the first time she's ever truly snapped at him. Not the little flip outs she has when she has to tell him twenty times to do something or when she's tired and he's getting on her last damn nerve. This was different. This was rage. Vehemence. And those were the eyes of a woman possessed. 

A woman out for blood.

“Well he didn't succeed did he? I'm still here. It's water under the bridge.”

“The bridge. The fucking bridge! Always the fucking bridge!”

“The bridge? What the fuck...?”

“The bridge! The bridge where he shot you! The bridge where you almost fucking died! I was on that bridge too! I was the one that held you when you were dying. I was the one that had your blood all over me. I was on that fucking bridge too, Tyler!”

“I know,” he rubs and squeezes her foot in an attempt to settle her down. “I know you were. But just calm down and...”

“Don't you fucking tell me to calm down,” she snaps, and yanking her foot out of his lap, pushes her chair away and jumps up with so much force that it nearly topples over. “Don't you do that. Don't you act like my feelings aren't valid!”

“I wasn't. That's not what I was trying to do. I know you were there. I know what you saw. And I wish every day it never came down to that. That you never had to see that. But I can't go back and change it. Didn't you say that to me today? That I can't go back in the past and change how I did things? This is the same thing.”

“No. It's not. It's the same damn thing at all! Don't you dare try and downplay this.”

“Esme...settle down...just take a breath...take a breath and let's talk about this calmly. Reasonably. Please...” he reaches for her and she slaps his hands away. “I'm not the enemy here, love. I'm not the bad guy. Don't push me away. You've been trying to do that for almost a year now. And I haven't gone anywhere yet.”

“How can you just sit there and be so calm about this?” she snags the pad of paper. “How can you act like this doesn't matter any more? That this name...this fucking name!...doesn't mean anything to you.”

“Because it doesn't. He isn't the first person that has tried to kill me. And he probably won't be the last.”

“Jesus Christ, Tyler. Are you really trying to normalize this?”

“It's the nature of the beast. All part of the job. You knew that when Nik dragged you into this. You really think he's the first asshole to try and kill me?”

“He's the first asshole that's tried to kill you right in front of me!”

Sighing, he runs his hands over his hair and through his hair and then leads back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe you should stay behind. Maybe it's better if you and the baby stay here.”

She stares at him incredulously. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“If shit hits the fan, which it probably will, it's probably best if you're not there. You went through it once. You don't need to see something like that again.”

“So you just wander off like you're fucking John Rambo and I stay with our baby...your baby...while you get killed?”

“What is this obsession with me getting killed? Do you really have that little faith in me?”

“Oh don't you play that card with me. I'm the only one around here that has had faith in you.”

“Then what the fuck is going on? What is happening right now? Because I honestly have no idea.”

“You're not a stupid man, Tyler Rake.”

“Well I must be because I have no fucking clue what you're going on about.”

“You almost died. You're not just some random of the street. Not some guy I was just randomly fucking. You're my husband. The father of my child. And you have the gall to ask me why I'm so upset? Oh I don't know Tyler. Maybe I'm upset that I saw you get shot in the neck and you were bleeding out all over me. Maybe that has something to do with it, do you think?”

“Okay settle down. Just settle down. Before you say something totally stupid you'll regret. I get it. I do. But you've got to let it go.”

“I'm never going to let this go. Not until this piece of shit...” she tosses the pad down onto the table. “...is lying dead in the street. I want revenge. You deserve that.”

“I don't want that. We got revenge when Nik killed Asif. Isn't that enough?”

“No. It's not. It won't be enough until that little bastard is stone cold dead and in hell where he belongs.”

And with that, she storms out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: cute and fluffy Tyler (is that really a warning?), some mentions of death and blood etc.

She's lying on her side with her back facing the door when he wanders into their bedroom. The light on her side of the bed still on, the book she'd been immersed in for most of that day discarded beside her. She's not sleeping; he sees the way her body slightly twitches in response to hearing him enter the room. The slight creak of the door giving his stealthy entrance away.

But he still asks, “You awake?”

“Yes,” comes the muttered reply.

So he takes it one step further. Attempting a bit of humour “We still friends?” 

“Maybe.”

“I still want to be friends. I even brought you a peace offering. Isn't that what friends do when they have a fight? Try to smooth things over?”

She shrugs.

“It's ice cream if that makes a difference. Your favourite. Rocky Road.”

“You actually went out to the store to buy it?”

“I really went out for some fresh air and there were no flower shops open so I couldn't buy those to bring home in an attempt to kiss ass. I figured ice cream was the next best thing. Remember how you used to always want it when you were pregnant?”

She nods.

“Rocky Road with melted peanut butter and chocolate sauce on it. And tacos. Lots of tacos. You used to wake me up in the middle of the night to make you food.”

“And you always did it,” she recalls. “You never complained about it. You'd just smile and say 'whatever you want, baby' and go and do it.”

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You know that. And I figured since I put a baby in you and made you pretty miserable for nine months, ice cream and tacos was the least I could do.”

“Remember that time you made me a cake?” she asks, still not turning to face him. 

“Chocolate cake with white icing. Yeah, I remember.”

“And we sat in bed with it and two forks and ate the whole thing,” she manages a laugh. 

“That was a pretty wild nine months, huh? I know it was hard on you and you were sick all the time and there was problems, but there were some good times too. Some really good times. And the end result turned out pretty good. If I do say so myself.”

'Yes,” she agrees "It did.”

“Are we still fighting?” he asks, as he climbs into bed beside her; sticking to his side, his legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the headboard. 

“It wasn't a fight. We weren't fighting. We just weren't seeing eye to eye.”

“I'm pretty sure that's the definition of a fight, love. And we can't call it a debate because you lost your ever loving shit on me, so...”

“I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at the situation. At that fucking kid.”

“Which is another reason I brought ice cream. So you won't be mad any more. And so I don't have to sleep on the couch.”

She snorts.

“If you don't want any, that's fine. I'll eat the whole bowl for myself. It'll help when I do a bulking session at the gym tomorrow,” he spoons some ice cream into her mouth and looks over at her. “There's no melted peanut butter and chocolate sauce, but it's still pretty good. And you know I don't like eating alone.”

Huffing loudly, she rolls over onto her back and looks at him.

“See....ice cream...” he moves the bowl side to side in front of her face. “...I wasn't bullshitting. Humour me here, okay? I'm trying.”

Sighing, she rolls over onto her side, gets up onto her knees and then manoeuvres herself into a sit beside him. 

“You're actually touching me,” he grins, when her shoulder presses against his. “That's always a good sign.”

She looks down at the bowl in his hand. Full of rocky road ice cream. And two spoons.

“I brought you your own spoon,” he says. “Because I don't want your cooties.”

“I think we are way past giving each other cooties, Tyler. We've exchanged more than cooties in the last year.”

“True. Considering we started bumping uglies three days after we met.”

“Bumping uglies,” she smirks, and scoops a spoon of ice cream from the bowl. 

“So are we?” he reaches for her with his foot, running his toes along the side of her leg. “Friends?”

“With benefits or...”

“If that's the kind of friends you want to be, I'm good with it,” he chides, and playfully digs his elbow into her side. 

“Yeah, you would be. You'd pick that over being married?”

“Over being married to you? Never in a million years. Over being married to someone else? Most definitely. I can't imagine doing this with anyone else, to be honest. I can't see myself being anyone else's husband. I've got a pretty good gig here. I'm not doing too bad I don't think.”

“You're holding up your end of things,” she agrees. “You're definitely a keeper.”

They sit quietly and eat their ice cream. Enjoying the simplicity of the moment; the lull after a busy and trying day. Listening to the rain falling outside and feeling the cool breeze that tumbles into the room and flutters the curtains. She notices the way the light from the table lamp catches the wedding band on his finger. She likes the way it looks on him; the way he always wears it so proudly and refuses to take it off. 

“For the record, I wasn't mad at you,” she informs him. “I was frustrated with you.”

“You know how I like to be an enormously stubborn pain in your ass. It's intentional you know. Sometimes I like to cause problems and start fights.”

“Why? Just so we can make up?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “That's exactly why. Because we always make up in the best way.”

“The best possible way,” she agrees. “But I honestly was not pissed with you. I'm pissed with this goddamn shitty mess. How did this happen? I thought we got away from this? I thought we put Dhaka behind us?”

“Past sometimes has a way of sneaking up and biting you in the ass.”

“But how? Asif is dead.”

“Like you said earlier today, guys like that always have a lot of rats scurrying around them and waiting to take their place. I've seen this kind of thing before. Where they come out of hiding ready for another go. Wanting to avenge the big boys.”

“A year later though? Why so long? Doesn't that seem a little weird to you?”

“Seems a bit off. Normally they don't wait that long. Couple weeks. Maybe a couple months. Must be a reason for it. They just don't show up without one.”

“Is he still in prison? Ovi's dad?”

“He's going to be there for at least twenty five more years. If not longer. He's hurt a lot of people. Killed a lot of people. This isn't about Ovi's old man. This is about Ovi getting away. And about me helping him.”

“So you think this is personal?”

“Very.” 

“Personal against you though?”

“Maybe. They thought I was dead so things quieted down and they left Ovi alone. They had no real leadership so it probably took them time to regroup. Probably took them a year to figure out I was still alive.”

“Is that really what you think it is? That they're doing this because of you?”

“I'm not sure,” he admits. “There's no way of knowing until I ask more questions and get more information. They're ruthless, but they're not very smart. So it makes sense that it took this long to find out I'm alive and figure out exactly who I am.”

Both eyebrows arch as she considers his explanation. “So they probably know your name? Where you live? They probably know about us? And the baby?”

“I honestly don't know. I need some time to find that out. Until then we keep to ourselves and we don't talk about this to anyone besides Ovi and Nik. We keep our mouths shut. I doubt they have connections here, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I called Nik. Told her we needed to talk about Ovi. We should know for sure what's going on and where we're going in a couple days.”

“A couple days that will seem like a couple years.”

He nods in agreement, then scoops up the last bit of ice cream and offers it to her; his hand under her chin as she accepts it. “I don't want you worrying too much about this, alright? It'll all get figured out.”

“It's hard not to worry. If they know you're alive and they know you're name, they'll figure it where you are. And once they figure that out, they'll be able to get to you. Get to us. And if you leave us here...”

“I'm not leaving you here. I'm not going to Dhaka alone. We're stronger together than we are apart. We always have been. And I can't protect you guys if I'm thousands of miles away. It may not be the smartest decision to bring you both there, but it's the best decision. And I know you'd go crazy worrying about me if you didn't get to tag along. I know I told you I'd eventually take you on a honeymoon, but this is not the trip I had in mind. I was thinking the Bahamas. Turks and Caicos.”

“Niagara Falls,” she tosses out.

He laughs. “What?”

“I've always wanted to go there. I've always wanted go on that boat that takes your right up to them and go in the tunnels behind them. And there's all kinds of corny shit like wax museums and haunted houses. I think it would be kind of neat to go there. It would be fun.”

“I'm thinking the Caribbean and here you are thinking Canada. We are definitely not on the same page.”

“It's like living in one of those choose your own adventure books You never know where you're going to end up.”

“That's pretty much it,” he laughs, and placing the empty bowl on the night stand, wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her tightly against him. 

She turns her body towards him; curling her legs underneath her and sneaking her arm around his waist, head coming to rest on his chest. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the top of her head, breathing in that soft, familiar scent that clings to her. The one that he'd miss like hell if it ever disappeared. His thumb repeatedly stroking her shoulder in smooth, comforting motions. And he's just about to doze off when he feels her shuddering against him; eyes snapping open when he feels the dampness against his chest. 

“Hey....what's wrong?” he hooks a finger under her chin and forces her to look up at him. “Talk to me.”

The flood gates finally open. All the tears she'd been storing for months finally come spilling out. A tsunami of anger, frustration, and fear. The realization of the tremendous loss that she had nearly suffered finally breaking through. She'd been so strong for so long; he'd never seen her cry once the entire time he was in the hospital or when he was going through his rehab and various therapies. Not even the shrink could get it out of her, and it wasn't for lack of trying. But tonight has been the icing on the cake. The straw that has broken the camel's back. And she openly weeps; choking and sputtering on her own saliva and tears and the words that tumble from her mouth.

“You almost died,” she sobs. “Right there in front of me. And I can still feel you in my arms; I can still feel how heavy you felt, I can still see how empty your eyes looked. How lifeless they were. How I squeezed your hand and you didn't even have the strength to squeeze it back. And I remember how I put my hand my hand over yours...right here...” she presses her fingers to the left side of his throat, which bears the telltale sign of the bullet that had nearly ended his existence. “...and there was so much blood...there was blood everywhere....your blood. I can still smell it. I can still feel it. I can still see it.”

He has a very faint recollection of that moment. Where he lay dying in her arms. The memories often came in snippets; seeing the tears that streamed down her face; hearing her panicked and hysterical voice as she begged him not to leave her, to just hang in a little while longer. He could recall her telling him that she loved him and that she always would. And he was pretty sure he said it back. Or at least tried to. And when he closes his eyes and thinks hard enough, he can feel that hand over his, her other hand stroking his hair and her lips pressed against his forehead.

“And I'm so angry,” she continues. “I am so fucking angry, Tyler. At Ovi Senior for putting his kid in danger in the first place. At Saju for fucking everything up and killing the whole team. At that little bastard that shot you. And you. I'm so mad at you. So fucking mad.”

He knew that was coming. He expected it. And he understood it. 

“I am so fucking mad for making me fall in love with you, only to almost lose you just as fast as I found you. I'm mad that you tried to get me to leave, only to change your mind and beg me to stay. I'm mad about what I saw. I'm mad about what I heard. I'm mad about watching you suffer and struggle and crawl your way back from the brink of death. I'm mad that you had the fucking audacity to almost die on me in the first place.”

“It's not like I did that intentionally,” he says, trying to inject a little bit of light into quite possibly the darkest conversation he's ever had to have. “Remember what I told you? Before you left with Ovi and Saju? I told you that I'd never leave you unless I had to. That I'd never leave you unless I didn't have a choice. You think I wanted all that to happen? That I wanted that little prick to shoot me in the throat and you have to see that? That's not what I wanted, Esme. That's far from what I wanted.”

“And you what I'm the most mad about? I'm mad that I even feel this way. It makes me sick to my stomach that I even think those things about you. Because you're the love of my life and the father of my child and what kind of sick fuck thinks of things this? What kind of messed up person would be mad at someone they love? That they almost lost?”

“You have every right to be mad. Maybe it doesn't make sense to you. But it makes sense to me. I get it. I really do.”

“I don't want to feel this way,” she sniffles. “I don't want to be angry at you. But I can't stop it. I try and it just keeps happening and just when I think I've got it under control, something happens that brings it all back up. And then I hate myself for it. I hate myself for the things I think and things I just said...”

“Don't,” he softly interjects, and placing his hand on the back of her head, encourages her to rest against him. She nestles into him; face pressed into the spot between his shoulder and his neck. And his one hand remains on the back of her head, finger tips gently kneading her scalp as he reaches across his body and places his other hand on her side. “...don't hate yourself. You have no reason to.”

“I'm sorry, Tyler. I'm sorry for thinking those things. For saying them out loud.”

“You don't have to be sorry. It was better that you got that shit out instead of keeping it all inside.”

“I didn't mean to fall in love with you. I know it probably shouldn't have happened. It was all so messed up. But I did. I did fall in love with you. And I don't regret that.”

“Neither do I,” he assures her. “It should have felt so wrong but it didn't. Things happen for a reason. I truly believe that. It wouldn't have happened if it wasn't supposed to. It's okay, love. Everything's okay. Just take a breath. Take a breath and try and relax. You're okay now. We're okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

“The only time I've ever felt safe and secure is when I'm with you. And I hate that feeling that someone is out there just waiting to take that away from me. From us.”

“They won't,” he vows. “I swear to you, they won't. Now just try and calm down now, okay? Take a deep breath. Take a deep breath and listen to my voice. Everything is going to be okay.”

She moves even closer to him; slinging both of her legs over his thighs and pressing herself against him. One hand on the back of his neck, the other clutching at his chest. And then he begins to talk. About how they met. The things he'd felt when Nik had introduced them. How he'd never felt way before about anyone else; something so profound and so unexplainable in such a short amount of time. How he'd known the very second he first kissed her that he was powerless to stop what was happening between them. How what should have been the worst decision of his life had turned into the best one he'd ever made. And he tells her that he's happy now. Well and truly happy. That there's nothing or no one out there strong enough that could possibly take that away from him. 

And as she listens and feels those fingers in her hair, she finally begins to relax. The sniffling stops and the tension in her body releases. Lulled to sleep by the sound of his voice and the vibrations that emanate deep within his chest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: profanity, slight unrequited love and longing (I guess), fluffy daddy Tyler

****

News comes fast. Not in the form of an email or a phone conversation, but with Nik showing up on his doorstep less than eighteen hours later. Given the situation these things are best done in person; no chance of insecure connections or taps on your phone and no extra ears listening in. They could control the situation at his place; very few people going in or out, no strangers past the front door, no one taking photographs and assessing the scene. It would sound like paranoia to the average person. To Tyler it is just common sense.

Still the initial greetings are tense. They haven't beside in each other's physical presence in eleven months other than the visits Nik would make to the hospital during those early days of his battle for survival. These two women in his life had been friends; meeting through a series of consequences and bizarre events and becoming incredibly close. Drawn together by similar experiences and skill sets that played off each other extremely well. But there's a chill in there. Tyler feels it. The way they stand on opposite sides of the room regarding one another; fondness in one set of eyes, suspicion in the other. He isn't sure what has changed between them or exactly what happened or when. 

But that bond they once shared has been severed. Whether it be through something that was said during bedside moments at the hospital or through text or phone calls, something had gone down Perhaps it was Esme's own insecurities. A battle with self confidence since having the baby and not being able to loose some of the extra weight she'd put on. To him she was incredible; the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and had the pleasure of being with. But to Esme, Nik is the competition. A reminder of times in his life when she didn't exist. There would always be that lingering 'what if', perhaps even an unspoken worry that there were still feelings between them. That fact he has intimate history with both of them makes things a tad awkward. One was part of his distant past. The other his present and his future. 

The 'help' that Nic had brought with her lingers in the front hallway; rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes darting around the room and never making contact with Tyler's. He's nervous. Awkward. A young guy that barely looks old enough to have graduated high school. Short and stocky with unruly blond hair and anxious looking eyes, clad in a crisp black suit, white shirt and tie. He wonders where Nic ever dug this guy up from. He seems skittish. Better suited for a library than a hostile situation. More Brad Pitt in Meet Joe Black than Brad Pitt in Inglorious Bastards.

Nik makes the first move; crossing the room in three long strides and taking Esme into her arms, enveloping in her a long, tight hug. For a brief moment the tension becomes unbearably thick. Causing him to clear his throat his throat uncomfortably and look away; arms crossed over his chest as sits on the arm of the couch. And out of the corner of his eye he finally sees his wife's stiff body relax and the arms that had remained by her sides returning the embrace. 

“Look at you...” Nik holds Esme's face in her hands; emotion welling in her eyes, a soft smile curving her lips. “...motherhood suits you. How are you? You've been okay?”

He wonders how long it's been since they'd actually talked. The mood is too frigid to suggest they'd kept up any semblance of their friendship. 

He makes a mental note to get to the bottom of it.

The new kid clears his throat noisily. Smooths down the wrinkles in his suit jacket. Straightens and tightens histie. His eyes met Tyler's briefly, a twitch of the lips as they turn up in a smile. 

“I make you nervous, mate?” he smirks, as his wife and Nik make slightly awkward small talk. 

"The kid blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You haven't looked at me since you got here. Not even when you shook my hand. You seem a little nervous.”

“A little, I guess,” he admits. “You're a...well...you're a little bit of a legend, sir.”

“Don't call me sir. I'm not old enough to be your father.”

“I'm sorry. Mister Rake.”

Tyler snorts and shakes his head. “Not need for that kind of formal stuff here, kid. We're all in the same shit pile. What are you nervous about?”

“Like I said, you're a bit of a legend, sir...I mean Mister Rake..I mean...”

“Tyler's fine, mate.”

“I'm sorry...Tyler. You're a legend. Everyone in the business knows you. We've all heard the stories. We all know your numbers. Something like three hundred men. That you've...you know...dispensed of.”

“Three, four, somewhere around there,” he says. “To be honest, I stopped keeping track a long time ago. How long you been in the game?”

“Not long. A couple of months. Nik just has me doing security details right now, but I'm hoping to get out into the field. It would be nice to follow in your footsteps.”

“Be careful what you wish for, kid. These footsteps aren't all they're cracked up to be. Trust me on that.”

“Those are mighty big shoes to fill,” Nik pipes up, as she and Esme finally conclude their tense yet promising catching up. “It will be a long time before you even come close.”

“I need to get out of here,” Esme announces. “I need to get some fresh air. Before I start climbing the walls.”

Tyler nods, curling an arm around her waist as she steps between his legs. Her hands on his shoulders as he presses a kiss to her lips. Followed by her forehead. He notices the way Nik shifts uncomfortably and averts her gaze.

Esme moves towards the door. Snagging a set of keys from a bowl on the hallway table before showing her feet into a pair of flip flops.

“That's your cue, mate,” Tyler addresses the younger man. “What's the hold up?”

“Right...okay...I guess I'll just...I'll just go with her.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Tyler runs a hand through his hair and over his face, eyes and voice filled with disdain. “That's what you're here for. Not to just stand there, holding up the wall. You bloody well better make sure nothing happens to her. Because if something does, your end is going to be pretty damn painful and pretty damn bloody.”

The kid's eyes widen; a noticeable red flush appearing on his chest and the tips of his ears. And he gives nothing more than a stiff nod in response before following Esme out the door.

Tyler smirks. “Think I scared him?”

“I think you may have made him wet his pants,” Nik retorts.

“Where the hell do you find that guy? Little wet around his ears, no?”

“He's a little...green.”

“Yeah, like fresh baby shit.”

“What he lacks in social skills he makes up for in other ways. You don't have anything to worry about. She's in good hands. And speaking of babies..” Nik finally turns to face him. “..don't I have a niece to finally meet?”

****

Tyler leads the way to the nursery. Nik notices the differences in the way he moves now; his limp more pronounced, his right shoulder hitched slightly higher than the left as the muscles and tendons overcompensate for the damage that had been done. There's more scars now. Some thin and smooth, others thick and jagged. And she can't help but concentrate on that one that graces the left side of his neck. The one that had nearly taken his life and had seen him spend weeks teetering on the threshold of this world and the next. But he's the same Tyler; tall and strong, broad shouldered, a powerful specimen to behold. And he's managed to pack the weight and the muscle back on, and then some. 

The baby lies on her back in the middle of the crib. Those brilliant blue eyes wide and focused; mesmerized by the mobile that spins above her. Making soft cooing noises and smiling when she realizes her father is now standing beside her. Tiny hands reach for him, little legs kicking with excitement. 

“She's beautiful,” Nik says, and hopes she isn't betrayed by the emotions she's feeling. It is overwhelming; coming face to face with this tiny being who was conceived during one of the darkest and most trying times in all of their lives. An innocent, perfect little creature who came so close to never meeting the man that so obviously adores her. 

Amelia Grace. A beautiful and worthy name. Classic. Strong. 

“She's doing well?” she asks, watching as his long, strong fingers straighten and fasten impossibly small buttons. Such a juxtaposition. How this hands have done so much damage but can still be so gentle.

“Doing good,” he replies. “Learning new things every day. Growing like a weed.”

“It seems like just yesterday that we found out about her. You were still in the hospital. I remember how scared you sounded when you told me that Esme was pregnant. You were terrified.”

“For good reason. The last time I got someone pregnant, it didn't end very well. Don't think things like that don't mess someone up.”

“I don't think I'd ever seen you like that. Or heard you sound like that. Everything we've been through together and everything that's happened to you, and I'd never seen you that worried.”

“I was shitting myself, to be honest. I was still pissing through a tube and spending ninety percent of my days knocked out from painkillers. Not the ideal situation to be in when you find out your girlfriend's pregnant.”

“Is that what she was? Is that where the two of you were then? It wasn't just a passing thing? Two people caught up in a moment?”

He'd considered that himself almost a year ago. Things had happened fast. Giving neither of them a chance to really catch their breath. Two broken people finding solace and escape in one another. 

“If it were, do you really think we'd be here right now? Having this conversation? You think I'd have married her if it wasn't more than that?”

“Part of me wondered if maybe you did that because it felt like the right thing to do.”

“Wondered or hoped?” he challenged, and she gives a small smile. “Truth to be told, neither of us really knew what we were at the time. We didn't know where we'd end up. But I knew that I loved her. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. And I knew she loved me. And that's all that mattered.”

Nik nods. That explanation pleasing her. At least for now.

“You want to hold her?” he asks, as one of those large, powerful hands runs every so delicately over the baby's head. “You can go ahead and pick her up if you want. She doesn't bite. That's more her mother's thing.”

She laughs at that and steps closer to the crib. Hesitating, her top teeth grazing over her bottom lip.

“Christ sakes, you're not going to hurt her. I know she weights all of ten pounds, but you're not going to break her. Here...” he lifts the infant from the confines of the crib and places her in Nik's arms. “...that's it...just relax....why are you so nervous?”

“She's tiny. I've never seen a human being this small. I haven't been around many babies.”

“You wanted to be her aunt and now you get to do it. You've got to learn to hold her. Just let her lay on her arm. Make sure her back and her head are supported. Would you stop shaking? You're going to freak her out. Bloody well relax already.”

Nik inhales deeply and slowly releases the breath. “I don't think she likes me.”

“Just settle down. You're worrying over nothing. See? That's not that hard, yeah? After you master this, we can work on changing diapers.”

“You're pressing your luck with that, Tyler,” she says, her eyes riveted on the tiny creature in her arms, her fingers softly combing through that silky hair. “She's just so beautiful. So perfect. She looks just like you.”

“You're not going to follow that up with 'poor kid' are you?”

“Never. She's precious, Tyler. The best of you and the best of Esme all rolled into one. If you'd told me this is where we'd be a year ago...”

“Surreal, isn't?” his hands move as he speaks; the need to keep constantly busy. Smoothing and straightening crib sheets, folding a bubble gum pink receiving blanket. “This time last year I had a chicken in my bathroom. Now I'm making bottles at three in the morning and wiping baby puke off my shirts.”

“I like this side of you,” she muses. “This domestic side. The one that takes the garbage to the chute and cooks supper and does the laundry.”

“I even clean toilets and windows,” he grins. “But let's cut the shit. That's not the Tyler you're looking for, is it.”

It's a statement more than a question.

“I wish I could say it was. And I was surprised. When you called me and told me you wanted in on this. You're the last person I expected to get back in the game. Why now? You've got a normal life. You've got a wife and a baby. Is this really the life you want for them?”

“One last time, Nik. This is the end for me. After this I disappear. I disappear with my family and you lose my number unless it's only the new Tyler you're looking for.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do? I need you to be sure, Tyler. I need you to really look inside of yourself and be sure.”

Sighing, he drops down into the rocker by the window; hands clasped behind his head and his eyes on the ceiling as one foot methodically moves the chair. “Let's get one thing clear. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for Ovi.”

“I know.”

“The kid needs me. He doesn't trust the guys you've got watching them. And I'm sure they're decent guys. I'm sure they can pack a punch if they need to. But they're not me. Ovi realizes that. I think you do too.”

“And you can handle it? Physically speaking?”

“I'm not a hundred percent. I won't lie and say I am. But I'm at least at eighty percent and that's eighty percent more than what you had before I called you.”

“I can have you on a flight in forty eight hours.”

“Not just me. Esme and the baby too.”

“Tyler...”

“I remember that tone. That's the tone you always used on me when you thought I was saying something stupid.”

“Not stupid. Foolish. Dangerous. Do you really think that's a good idea? Didn't you learn anything from what happened in Dhaka? Hasn't Esme seen enough?”

“She's a big girl. She can handle it. She'll be fine.”

“Things could go wrong. Things could go very wrong.”

He smirks. “They always do, don't they?”

“Then why bring them into this? Why take that chance?”

“They were already in this, Nik. They were in this the second I made my decision. They either come with me or we all stay. That's the way it's going to be.”

“Shit...Tyler...” she mutters. “...this isn't a good idea. This...”

“I didn't listen to you a year ago when you told me to leave the kid in the street and I'm not going to listen to you now. This is the way it's going to be, Nik. It's either the three of us or it's none of us. Take your pick.”

She sighs.

“They're safer if they're with me,” he argues.

“I can have people posted here with them. I can...”

“Who?” he interjects. “Some guy that doesn't look like he's old enough to shave yet? I'm not trusting some guy who looks like he hasn't even reached puberty yet to take care of my family. They're better off with me. You get on us that flight. All three of us. And you make sure that everything is there that we need. Baby stuff. A crib, blankets, all that other shit. Make it happen, Nic.”

“This is foolish, Tyler. This isn't going to end well.”

He motions for her to hand him the baby and Nik carefully passes the infant over. Watching as he presses a kiss to his daughter's forehead and then places her against his chest. 

“They know, Tyler. They know you survived. They know you're alive and they know your name. They know where you live.”

A shiver passes through him, but he maintains a calm and stoic front. “I figured as much. How long have they known?”

“A week. Maybe two. We've tried to keep your location quiet. We tried to keep your private life just that. But we could only do so much.”

“They have anyone here?”

“Not that we know of. But Asif had many friends. Many allies. And if these kids turn to them, there's no telling how far their reach will be.”

“Do they know about Esme? And the baby?”

“They know everything, Tyler.”

He nods slowly. Foot moving the rocker even harder. His eyes dark and stormy as his chin rests on top of his daughter's head.

“Get us a flight, Nik,” he says. “We don't have forty eight hours. I don't care how you do it. Just get us a flight.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none really
> 
> This is just for some character development before delving into the 'past' chapters. Needed conversations, I suppose :)
> 
> Chapters are going to get longer as the story goes on.
> 
> Whoever is reading, thank you! Feel free to comment. I don't bite ;)

****

Esme watches him; the way he stands thirty meters away with his arms crossed over his chest and a pair of Raybans covering his eyes. He stands out like a sore thumb. A peculiar site among a street crawling with folks in swimsuits and other summer gear. The sun beating down on that simple yet surprisingly stylish black suit, the heat and humidity causing beads of sweat to gather on his forehead, at his temples, and on his top lip. She both envies and feels sorry for him. Envies the fact he hasn't yet seen the real heartache and the real darkness that comes with the job. He hasn't had the demons and ghosts settle in yet. 

And that's what makes her sad. Because it is inevitable. Somewhere down the road his eagerness to live up to a legend will lead him in the right direction but into the entirely wrong place. And he won't be the same kid that he is right now. Anxious. Scared to make a mistake. Wanting to impress. Dreaming of the missions of guts and glory and seemingly endless brutality. Right now he finds it glamorous. They all did at one point. But one day he'll wake up and realize just how fucked up it all was. He'll look back on the places he'd been and the things he'd done and he'll wonder why the hell he'd ever been so eager to get into the trenches in the first place. 

She'd been there. She WAS there. And it eats at you. It chews you up and it spits you out. And the memories come back so fast and so hard that there's times you pray...beg...that the ground will open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

“You can sit down you know,” she calls to him. She admires the determination. She's sure there's a little bit of fear he'll fuck up and get his ass handed to him because of it. But he's steadfast. A rock. Even if he does look like a secret service agent. “I don't mind. I could use the company.”

He regards her through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. She imagines he looks like a deer caught in the headlights right about now.

“I don't bite,” she assures him. Although her husband would beg to differ. He'd been at the receiving end of more than a few during their often rough and uninhibited love making sessions. Teeth marks like war wounds on his shoulders, neck, even the insides of his thighs. 

He takes a step towards her. Then hesitates.

“Are you being serious right now? Look, you're making me extremely nervous right now and people are getting suspicious. If you're going to be watching someone...if you're going to be someone's detail...you have to less conspicuous about it. If there was a bad guy around, they would have made you about ten minutes ago. Sit down. It's hot out. Get into the shade.”

He finally relents. Crossing the promenade in two long strides, unbuttoning his suit jacket before sitting down across from her. A waitress scurrying over to take his order.

“We come here a lot,” Esme says. “It's one of our favourites. The coffee is strong and the food is good and the people watching is A plus. You'd be surprised the weird and funny shit you see when you actually sit back and pay attention. Sometimes I even come here by myself. When Tyler has his own shit to do or he's at the doctor's or at the shrink. He won't let me go with him to those things. He says it makes him nervous. That he's too busy worrying about what he might say and that means he won't actually say it. So the baby and I will come here. Just hang out. Forget about everything else in our lives for a while.”

“Shrink? What...?”

“You talk about wanting to fill those shoes. Believe me, those are shoes that are probably best left empty. Don't go down that road kid. I know you admire him. I know you've heard the stories. You've seen the numbers. And it's impressive and it's bad ass and it's something you want to emulate. I get it. I do. He's my husband and I admire him. But this isn't the life you want. This is not how you want to end up. Because it fucks you up and it haunts you. For the rest of your life. And if you're not strong enough, it will eat you alive. It takes no prisoners. Unless you're prepared for all of that, don't go following down anyone else's path.”

He nods slowly, considering her words. Then smiles at the waitress when she returns with his coffee.

“But that's just words from someone who has been in the game. Who is living with the after effects. So I won't be offended if you tell me to gofuck myself.”

His eyes widen. “I'd never say something like that to you, Mrs Rake.”

She laughs at that. It makes her feel so old; Mrs Rake. It's so mature and so formal and it seems as if it should belong to someone twice her age. But it's who she is now. It is part of her identity. Someone's wife, someone's mother. And they were the two greatest roles she'd ever been fortunate enough to play in her entire life. 

“What's your name?” she asks. 

“Jason, m'am. Jason Andrews.”

“Well Jason Andrews, it's nice to meet you. I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances. I was a bit more likeable a year ago.”

“I think you're likeable enough just fine, m'am.”

She laughs, pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. “M'am? Just how old do you think I am?”

“My mother always told me to never ask a woman her age or never even gather a guess. I'll have to plead the fifth.”

“You're from the south, aren't you.”

“Yes, m'am. Just a tad east of North Orleans.”

“I haven't been there in years. University was a wild time. Trips down to Mardis Gras. Back when I had less gray hair and people still called me Miss instead of M''am. It's Esme, by the way. But I'm sure you already knew that.”

He nods in confirmation. 

“You can call me by name, you know. It doesn't have to be so formal. This is some unprecedented shit you've gotten yourself mixed up in. I'm pretty sure that means we can move on to first names.”

“Nik has told me a lot about you,” he informs her. “A lot about the both of you. You're from Colorado?”

“Snowmass. About fifteen miles from Aspen. Just a little place. All of twenty five hundred people. Or at least that's what it was when I left. There's probably more now.”

“You haven't been home in a while?”

“I had a place there. A house. A quaint little thing with a porch swing and a fire pit in the backyard. My brother lives there now. With his wife and his kids. He took it over once I decided I wasn't going back. But I haven't been home, home, in just shy of six years. You know, family dinners on a late Sunday afternoon, coffee on my folks' porch, watching my nieces and nephews playing. Life just got away from me. The job just took hold. IT became who I was as opposed to something I did. Life got away from me.”

“Excuse me for saying this, but that's kind of....sad.”

“It is what it is,” she reasons. “Those are the choices I made. I knew there was no going back...truly going back...when I made them. And then I took the job with Nik and I ended up in Dhaka and now...well here I am.”

“Here you are,” he echoes, a sense of sadness creeping into his voice. “You were military?”

“Once. The Marines”

“My older brother is a jarhead. A gunnery sargeant. Forgive me for saying this and I mean no disrespect, but you don't seem the type. You don't really fit the picture of what people have when they think of the Marines. And you definitely don't seem to be the type to be involved in the job.”

“I guess that was my greatest weapon of all. People looked at me and would never think...in a million years....that I was capable of doing the things I've done. It's not one size, fits all. There's a lot of us that don't look the part. Sometimes that's good when it comes to the job. You blend in. People aren't suspicious of you. Half the time they don't give you a second glance. It worked in Dhaka. I gained peoples' trust. I got them to open up. It worked until it didn't work. And once that happened...” she sighs. “...well let's just say that it went way worse than anyone expected.”

“I've heard the stories. People like to talk. I'm not sure how many of the things I've heard are actually true.”

“When it went bad, it went extremely bad. It happened so quick. We didn't even have time to catch our breath. One minute we're making friends with the locals and the next we're running for our lives. No one expected it to go as horrible as it did. I mean, you go into things expecting and fearing the worst. But that...” she runs the palms of her hands along the sides of her glass of iced tea. “...that was way worse than anything I ever imagined.”

“And now you're going back.”

“And now I'm going back,” she concedes, and then clears her throat noisily. “Trust me when I say that it isn't a place I thought I'd ever return to. I thought that was behind me. I needed it to be behind me. But want and need are two entities of their own. What my heart wanted and what my brain allowed are two entirely different things. I realize that while I physically put it behind me, mentally I've been hanging onto it. Mentally I never left. If that makes sense.”

“Yes, m'am...Esme...it makes perfect sense.”

She noisily clears her throat, slides the sunglasses back down onto her face. “You have family? Other than an older brother?”

“A younger sister. She's still in high school. She wants to be a nurse.”

“Your folks?”

“Still alive. They've been together since high school. You?”

“My father died when I was a teenager. My mom is still kicking. She remarried a about ten years ago. My step dad's a good guy. Ex Army. He still has the hair cut, the swagger, the stories. We call him The Sarge,” she smiles at that. Fond memories of a man that had come into her life and filled a role that had been missing since those difficult teenage years. “He treats her well. They're happy. They're the disgustingly content retired couple that owns two Harleys, a motor home, and like to visit Graceland. The type that has 'my grandkids are better than yours' bumper stickers. It's been a while since I've seen them...” 

Her voice drifts off, recalling all the earlier times. The easier times. When all that mattered was bush parties and hanging out with friends and the fights and good natured ribbing that occurred between siblings. 

“...one day I'd like to go back,” she continues “I'd like to see them again. I'd like to sit across the table from Sarge and have him light into me about my tattoos and my piercings. I'd like to sit with my mom on the front porch; sipping sweet tea and eating her homemade peach pie. I'd like to see my little sister graduate from high school. Be the one that takes her to college and helps her move into residence. And I'd especially like to see my brothers and their families again. Hug and kiss my nieces and nephews. Meet the ones I haven't got a chance to.”

“You have a lot?”

“Fourteen,” she confirms. “My brothers wasted no time. They're baby making factories.”

“What about your baby?”

“They haven't met her. At least not in person. I send pictures. We do facetime chats. That type of thing. I didn't even tell them I was having a baby until she was almost here.”

“Why not?”

“Things weren't easily explained. Things were messy. Complicated. They were still reeling over the fact that I had run off and gotten married without telling any of them. I'm the first daughter. My mom was super pissed that she didn't get that whole mother of the bride experience. She felt robbed. And I can understand that. It's not an easy pill to swallow. Your first girl running off and meeting some random guy and deciding to settle down in Australia and never coming home. It's a lot for them to digest. And they don't even know the whole truth of it.”

“Why not?”

“Do your parents know about the job? Do they really know about it?”

“Just that I do security detail for a private company.”

“My parents thought I went into business when I left the corps. Because that's what I told them. I told them I was making a career change. One that would have me travelling a lot. It was a half truth, I guess. But they couldn't handle all of it. How do you tell your folks something like that? That your new skill set includes rescuing some and killing others? You don't. You don't tell them that. You make up some shit that will be easier on them. They think I came here on a business trip, met some guy and never came back. That's pretty much it. They know his name, what he looks like, his age. But they think he's in law enforcement. They think he was in an accident and I stayed here to help him through it and this is where I made my life. It seemed so much easier when I first told them all that. Now I realize just how fucked up it actually is. Not that I lied to them. We all lie. Some more than others. But why I had to lie. Why I had to cover it up. It's screwed up. I'm screwed up. This whole thing is screwed up. And you know what the worst part is? There's no easy way out of this. No matter what I tell them or how I tell them, it will be messy. They're going to hear things they don't like. And I'm worried they're going to hate me.”

“Parents could never hate their kids. It isn't in their nature. Could you ever hate your daughter?”

“No. I can't imagine I ever could.”

“Your folks could never hate you. They'd probably be surprised at the truth.”

“Probably? They would be. The truth is stranger than fiction. At least in this situation.”

“But hate you? No. I don't think that could ever happen.”

She stares down at the amber coloured liquid in her glass, tracing a finger tip on the side, making patterns in the condensation.

She hopes he is right.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: smut. NSFW.

They make love. Slow. Intense. As if their bodies and the sighs and moans of pleasure are somehow enough to convey the thoughts and the feelings that neither have the ability...or the courage...to express. 

Like a long goodbye, Esme thinks, and has to screw her eyes tightly shut to rid herself of the thought and of the tears that threaten. 

Afterwards she clings to him. Desperate to keep him inside of her. Her body accepting the full weight of his; fingertips and palms gliding over his arms, across his shoulders and down his back. Tracing every line of the Nordic tattoo. Finding his scars. As if committing every inch of him to memory. 

There's so much she wants to say, but simply can't find the courage to. Getting the words out in the open means you can never take them back. They're out there. In the universe. Lingering like a foul stench or a bad omen. She's weak. Emotionally and mentally spent. So she hopes the soft caresses and the languid exploration does all the talking for her. 

She despises the sense of doom that comes with that last kiss her gives her before pulling away. His eyes locked on hers, a sad smile playing on his lips as she cradles his face in her hands. Brushing her knuckles along his beard, using a fingertip to trace the scar that spreads over the bridge of his nose, then the one that takes up residence on the left side of his forehead. Her eyes find the one on his neck. The one that was a lasting remembrance of the day she nearly lost him. She looks away; eyes finding his face once again. And she pushes a hand through his hair. Tugging at the longer strands at the top and pulling his head back.

“I know,” he says. Voice low. Rumbling deep within his chest. “I know.”

*****

Later he lies on his back, a forearm across his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. Listening to her soft breathing and the sounds of the apartment in the middle of the night; the settling of pipes, the distant drip of the kitchen tap, the neighbours shuffling around overhead. 

He can't sleep. His body in agony. His mind on edge.

“Tyler?” her voice, soft and tiny, snaps his eyes open. She lies on her side, back towards him. Long dark hair fanned out along the crisp white pillow case.

He stretches out an arm, reaching for her. Palm coming to rest on her back. There's an overwhelming need to touch her. To stay touching her. It's desperate. All consuming. The irrational fear of if he stops touching her, she'll slip away. If he can feel her skin, feel the way her body rises and falls with each breath she takes, then she's still there. Right there in front of him. 

“Yeah?” he responds.

“What are you thinking about?”

She knows him so well. Better than he knows himself sometimes. She senses when he is struggling. Whether it be physically or mentally. And he's thankful for that. It makes the burdens he carries a little easier to bear.

“Christmas,” he says, and she casts a glance over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Christmas. I was thinking about Christmas. It will be the baby's first. I was thinking about how it would be nice if we went and visited your family. I want to meet them. And your mom deserves to meet her grand daughter.”

He's had a handful of conversations with his mother in law. She doesn't like him. He's the one that had taken her baby girl away. He was responsible for breaking up the family unit. It didn't matter that he'd also played a part in giving her a grand kid. Right now her need to hate him overpowered anything else. The old man was a different story. He seemed to get it. He seemed have a better grasp on what had happened. On why Esme had made the decisions she did.

“Sometimes we do crazy shit because we're in in love,” he'd reasoned once. “And trust me, son, this isn't the craziest shit I've heard about.”

Tyler knew his tune would change when...if...the full truth ever came out.

She moves beside him, rolling over onto her back. “Are you being serious right now?”

He nods, and once more reaches for her. There it is again. The agonizing need to keep a hold on her. As if something...or someone...was waiting in the shadows to snatch her away from him. His hand finds hers; entwining their fingers together, squeezing harder than he needs to.

“You gave up everything...everyone...to stay here with me. It's only right that I meet them. By then we'll both be out of the game. We'll have a normal life. We'll be doing normal things.”

“Whatever normal is,” she muses.

“I'll have to get a job.”

“Doing what?”

“I have no clue,” he admits. 

Truth be told, he'd never thought he'd live long enough where venturing down another career path seemed a necessity. 

“Private security, maybe. Or construction.”

“I can see that already,” she says. “With your hard hat and your steel toed boots and those jeans I love the most on you. You know, the ones that are baggy and hang off your waist. I can see you all shirtless and sweaty.”

He grins. “Is that some kind of fantasy of yours?”

“Baby, you ARE my fantasy.”

He smiles and brings their joined hands to his lips; pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. 

“What do we tell them?” she inquires. “About what we've been up to? They're going to want to know. I can't keep dodging the questions. It's getting harder and harder to lie. To remember what I've already told them.”

“You tell them that you met me when you were here on a business trip. That you seduced me.”

A derisive snort. “Give me a break. You seduced me. With your stupid handsome face and your stupid beautiful eyes and your stupid sexy voice.”

“I thought it was the muscles.”

She heaves a long, content sigh. “Those too. Definitely those too.”

“Just tell them that I got you drunk and took advantage of you.”

“Oh yeah, right...” she laughs. “...that would go over well.”

“I don't know. Tell them that we met and you didn't know how to say no. That you fell into my bed and never left.”

“As much as that last part is true, that is not something I can tell my mother.”

“So we stick to the story they already know. You met me, we fell in love, you decided to stick around. There's no need for much detail. Just that you stayed and I got into an accident and you nursed me back to health. That's it. Then we got married. Had a baby.”

“My mom is still bent out of shape that we never told her we were getting married in the first place. I guess she feels robbed. She didn't get to do the whole mother of the bride thing. What does it matter? She has another daughter.”

“Well, you were the first girl,” he reasons. “And people have second weddings all the time,” he reasons. “Tell her that. That that's something we could do. It's not the same but it might make her hate me less.”

“She doesn't hate you, Tyler. She just doesn't know you.”

“Do you really want her to?”

“Why wouldn't I? You're a great husband. You're an even better father. You're my best friend. My lover. My confidant. Why wouldn't I want her to know you?”

“I don't mean that Tyler. I mean the other Tyler. Like you said, I can't pretend he doesn't exist. That he still isn't part of me. Do you really want her knowing that part? Do you really want her knowing what I do? What I'm capable of?”

“It's a messy thing to get into. But you shouldn't be ashamed of it.”

“You know the things I've done. You've seen the things I can do. That's the stuff nightmares are made of.”

“But you've also done a lot of good things. You've helped a lot of people. You've saved them. You nearly killed yourself doing it, but you still did it. You have a big heart, Tyler. You hide it from everyone else, but I know it's in there. I know what you're capable of. Good and bad. You have a lot of love inside of you for someone who has done the things you've done. Look at the way you love me. Look at the way you love our daughter. Look at the way you love Ovi. You're not a bad person, Tyler. You're a good person who has done bad things. To bad people who deserve bad things happening to them. I mean, you even mourned for Gaspar even though he betrayed you and turned out to be a complete fucking tool.”

His thumb brushes over hers, then along the base of her fingers. Her hands are soft. Tiny. Especially compared to his.”What about Austin?” he asks, and he feels her hand tighten around his. “He was a good person. He was pure and innocent and good and I did a horrible thing to him.”

“You can't hate yourself forever. You just can't.”

“I know...” he sniffles noisily, fighting to keep back the emotions. “...but I can't forget.”

“No one expects you to. It was a difficult decision to be in. You did what you thought was the best thing to do at the time. You were scared. You didn't want to see him suffer. And I don't blame you for that.”

“I left him,” he laments. “I left him when he needed me the most.”

“Tyler...” she pushes herself into a kneel, and he spreads his leg apart as she comes to rest on her knees between his thighs. 

He likes the way her hands feel against his face. That smooth, gentle touch through his beard, the way her fingertips rub against his ears and her thumbs glide across his chin. And he manages a small smile when one of her hand tunnels in hair and her fist gently grabs hold of it, yanking his face up towards her.

“You did what you thought was the best thing to do,” she reasons. “You made a tough decision. And yes, maybe it was the wrong decision. Maybe you should have toughed it out and hung in there and stayed by his side until the end. But we don't all handle things the same way. You did what you did, Tyler. And now you have to come to terms with that. You need to move on.”

“You were there. For your dad. You were there and you were just a kid.”

“And look how much it fucked me up. Look how messed up I am. It screwed me up, Tyler. I was seventeen. And teenage years are hard enough at the best of times. Never mind something like that. And yeah, I'm grateful for the time we did get together. For the conversations we had. But it took something like that for those to even happen. That's my cross to bear. I took it for granted that he would always be around. I was an asshole teenager. I rebelled. I broke his heart. I pissed him off. And it took until he was dying to make amends for all the shitty things I'd said and did. I hate myself for that.”

“You shouldn't. You were a kid. Kids rebel. Kids do stupid shit.”

“I waited until it was too late to make a real difference. I thought I had so much more time and I didn't. So we both have our crosses to bear. We both hate ourselves for one thing or another. But goddammit, Tyler Rake. You enormous, insufferable pain in my ass. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. So much I can barely breathe sometimes. And you make all that hate and all that guilt I have so much easier to bear. So you do save people. In more ways than you could ever imagine. You don't realize it, but you...saved...me...”

She's still cradling his face when she leans down to kiss him. His lips are soft and warm and she can taste the salt of his tears. 

His hands rest on her hips; kneading the soft, supple flesh. And when he feels the press of her tongue against his lips, they begin their descent upwards. Sliding underneath the back of the flimsy tank top that she wears, feeling that shiver that passes through her as his calloused palms glide over her rib case, slowly moving upwards towards her breasts but then retreating, coming around to her back once more. He pulls out of the kiss in order to watch her face; the flush in her cheeks, her widened pupils, the way she tucks the bottom lip between her teeth. 

And he continues to watch her as he runs his fingers along her back, slowly and deliberately tracing each and every indent and bump of her spine. Taken back to a year ago in Dhaka, in that squalid, dingy hotel room, where he'd finally let down the walls he'd built up and he allowed someone in. When he finally felt something other than grief and loneliness and an overwhelming urge to put a bullet in his own brain. Two people struggling with extremely different yet eerily similar demons. Discovering among those four dirty walls and under that water stained ceiling, that they could help one another. That maybe they could each fill the holes in one another that had long ago been abandoned. 

Everything had been screaming at him to stop. That demon on his shoulder telling him that there was no way this could end well. That he couldn't possibly ever be the man that she needed. Wanted. Deserved. That he didn't deserve happiness. He didn't deserve love. That he was a horrible person who'd done horrible things and nothing good ever happened to someone like that. It wasn't the right time. Or the right place. And he'd known that. But he'd been powerless to stop it. He hadn't wanted to stop it. So he'd given in. To lust. To the power it gave him knowing that someone wanted him as badly as she did. To that little voice that told him that maybe..just maybe....this could work. That he could fall in love her. And she with him. That they could actually have a future.

He feels as if he's there. Back in that room. In the swelter of the Bangladesh heat. He can hear the hustle and bustle outside of the room; blaring car horns and the shouts and chatters of people on the street. He can once again feel the sweat on his skin; beading across his forehead, dripping from his temples, gathering at the nape of his neck. He can smell her; not as she is now, but the smell of her then. Of cheap shampoo and body wash mixed with her own perspiration. How he'd thought...at the time... that is was the most beautiful thing he'd ever smelt in his entire life. His once emotional dead and weary body had come alive as his hands explored her ready and willing form; kisses blazing trails over each inch of her, tasting her on his lips and his tongue, driven by an overwhelming sense of urgency and need. He even recalls how her own hands had felt; how her voice had sounded as she whispered his name. With a tortured, begging quality that he'd never heard from a woman before. And the knowledge that she was there..wanting him as badly as he wanted her...had been too much to take.

*****

Tyler feels that now. Those same sensations that the old Tyler had felt nearly a year ago. Every nerve ending on fire; blazing hot and growing deep in his stomach. Shuddering as she moves against him; her legs now straddling his lap and her breasts pressed flush against his chest. His hands move up her back; lightly and kneading her shoulders before his palms slide down that silky smooth. Their eyes never leaving one another as her grip tightens on his hair and she aggressively yanks his head backwards. Hissing sharply as her teeth nip a path that covers the width of his collarbone, wanders over his throat and the underside of his chin. Biting down on his bottom lip and his fingers digging into her hips her uses the tip of her tongue to trace the small red marks that her teeth that had left behind. This isn't a role she commonly plays. Domineering as opposed to being utterly submissive. She prefers the latter, and he enjoys the dom role, struggling to give up control even in their sex life. 

He temporarily hands over that power; his hands moving to her ass and squeezing and kneading the soft flesh while her grip tightens in his hair and he allows her to manipulate his head just where she wants it. The other reaches between them, and he lets out a long, low 'fuck' when her nails scrape down his chest just as the tip of her tongue traces the outer edge of his ear. His cock already rock hard against her when he feels gentle lips against that scar on the side of the throat. That one that serves an everlasting reminder. Like a souvenir from the gift shop in hell. And his eyes close and his head struggles to fall forward against the grip she has on his hair as her mouth furthers down onto his traps. 

“Fuck sakes,” he growls, a mixture of surprise and slight pain when her teeth bite down on that spot she always seems to find. That one that always serves as her victim. “That's going to leave a mark.”

“Good,” she says, as her tongue travels over the tender spot. “Then everyone will know that you're mine.”

He briefly wonders if by everyone she exactly means Nik. Just what was the issue there? What the hell had ever happened between them? He imagined if had everything do with him. His past with one and his present and future with the other. It was the elephant in the room; one made even bigger by Nik's appearance. But then all thought of his ex conquests totally flies out the window as his wife grinds her lower body against his, feeling the telltale sign of her arousal; slick juices now marking his skin. 

“Tyler...” she whispers, that same whisper she'd used so many months ago. When her hands had been desperately clutching at his hair and his shoulders, his head buried between her legs as he used his mouth and fingers to drive her wild. And he remembers how her tone and the volume of her voice had rapidly changed. From that soft hush tone to something more needy and desperate. Escalating to a full out scream; her heels digging into the mattress and her entire body arching off the bed. 

She pulls back to look at him. Those dark eyes full of longing and desire. Her chest heaving, hair hanging loose over her shoulder and down her back. But there's something else in the way she regards him. As if her eyes are searching his for some kind of reassurance. A promise that everything is going to be okay. At this time next year, they will be here in this very bed. No repeat of what had happened a year ago. Just two people going on with their lives with no fear of the future. She's scared. It's right there just under the surface. Mixing in with her want and need of him. 

He never looks away from her as he runs his hands over her hair, along her shoulders and down onto her arms. And he entwines his fingers with hers and smiles. It's shaky; giving away his own fears and his own worries. But he hopes it is enough. Prays that it's enough.

“It's going to be okay,” he vows. “I'm going to be okay. We're going to be fine.”

“Promise me you'll keep us safe. Promise me. Promise me you'll be okay.”

He knows he shouldn't. The last time he promised her that, he'd nearly died right in front of her very eyes. But she needs to hear it. She needs to feel safe and protected and he's the only one that can give her that. 

It's a blessing and a curse.

“I'll be okay,” he manages another feeble smile. “I won't let anything to happen to you. To our daughter. And I'll be okay.”

“Because we kind of like having you around. I've sort of gotten used to waking up beside you every day and that sleepy smile you always give me. And I'd really miss that. I'd really miss that smile. I'd really miss so many things.”

He cradles her face in his hands, a thumb trailing over her lips. “I'm going to be okay,” he insists, and then he kisses her, lips moving achingly slow against hers, hands moving from her face and sliding over her shoulders and down her arms, then reaching between them to find the hem of her tank top. Fingertips brushing against her skin as he peels it off of her body, tossing it onto the bed before he leans into her; his lips never leaving hers as he uses the full weight of his body to push her down onto the mattress. He needs to feel her against him; skin to skin. He needs to be able to feel her heart beating against him. Afraid that if he doesn't play his cards right, he may never get this chance again.

Her fingernails scrape down his back; deep enough to break the surface and leave noticeable trails across his skin. Placing one hand on the mattress, he supports his weight with one arms as the other hand roams her body, mouth following in their wake. Soft, feathery kisses over her throat and across her collarbone, his hair tumbling into his eyes and grazing against her.

“Tyler...”

Fuck he loves the way it sounds coming out of her mouth. A soft, desperate plea as her body shifts beneath him; legs opening as his hand wanders over her thigh and then in between. Stroking the soft, supple flesh as he drops his head in order to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Rolling it around on his tongue, drawing it between his teeth, suckling gently. And then he pulls back, blowing a steady stream of air on the moisten flesh just as he slips a finger inside of her.

She cries out, a mixture of his name and profanities, her entire body arching off the mattress.

“Shhhh...” he whispers, as his mouth and the tip of his nose travel through the valley between her breasts, the downward journey agonizingly slow. For both of them. His body sliding against the sheets as he moves down the bed, a hand moving slowly along her thigh and around to the back of her knee. “...you have to be quiet. You'll wake the baby. And we have house guests.”

Nik and the new kid had insisted on staying the night. A hotel too far away if they got themselves into a spot of trouble. One bedding down in the nursery on a fold out cot, the other on the couch. 

“You make it a little hard to keep quiet,” she argues in a harsh whisper, and then has to clamp a hand over her mouth when his tongue delves into her navel and repeats the same action he had with her breast; thoroughly moistening the area before blowing on.

“Always so good for me,” he praises, as he presses a series of kisses from the back of her knee, all the way down to her ankle. Fingertips gliding against the bottom of her foot before his mouth moves upwards. Nibbling at her skin every so often, feeling the her goosebumps against his lips and his tongue. “Right from the beginning,” he says, as his fingertips drift over that extra sensitive spot at the back of her knee. “Right from the beginning you gave me what I wanted.”

She opens her mouth to reply, all words lost when his mouth reaches her inner thighs; a strong hand pushing them open, his eyes on hers as he settles himself between her legs. The things that man can do with his mouth. And his hands. Joining together to create a very potent combination. 

“You are so beautiful,” he praises, as his presses a kiss to her mound. “You're so beautiful and I love you. So much.”

She tries to respond with the same but he is eager to get to work; all thoughts and all words disappearing from consciousness as his tongue trails over her clit. The pace is slow. Torturous. Even to him. His cock aching, desperate to be inside of her again. And her limbs tense and her feet dig into the mattress and her hands fists the sheets. 

“Tyler...” it's needy now. She's pleading. And he's relieved. Because even he has had enough of taking it slow. 

Slipping two fingers inside of her, he immediately zeros in on that magical spot inside of her. One no ever man had been able to find. In fact, she had confessed back in Dhaka that he was the first guy that had ever made her cum. That she'd never actually enjoyed sex enough to completely and totally relax enough to allow herself to enjoy it. And previous partners had never taken the time to make it a good experience.

They hadn't worshipped her like he had. Even that first night together.

The orgasm is fast and quick. Brought on by his fingers and the incessant pressure of his tongue, and when the first hint of noise starts tumbling from her mouth, he reaches up and clamps a hand against her lips. Continuing to lick and suck until she's begging him to stop because it's all just too much. Too sensitive. Too soon. Her hands in his hair once again, attempting to pull him up.

Her eyes are closed when he surfaces, a satisfied, proud grin plastered across his face. Her juices coat his mouth and his beard, and he likes it off of his lips, enjoying the taste.

“You okay?” he asks, as he removes his hand from her mouth.

“Fuck you, Tyler Rake. Fuck you for being so good at that. For being so good at some many things.”

“Especially the naughty things, yeah?”

“Especially those.”

He sits back on his heels, a hand resting on her fluttering stomach, waiting for her to come down from her high. And when she does, she pounces on him, catching him off guard and sending him toppling onto his back.

“Not every day you managed to get one over on me, love,” he says, smirking as those greedy hands immediately go for his boxer briefs. Normally he wore nothing; enjoying bare skin against the cool sheets and the way his naked body felt against hers. But with company in the house, a little modesty was a must. 

He enjoys this side of her; aggressive, not afraid to take what she wants. She'd always been a selfless lover; willing to reciprocate. Never having to be asked. Taking it upon herself to make sure he was satisfied. Even on the first night together, when he'd been surprised that she'd been so keen on returning the favour. And she was good. So fucking good. And he remembers how he'd lay there afterwards, trying to catch his breath, trying to orientate himself with his surrounding, to realize what had just happened. She had just watched him. A smirk on her face and a devilish glitter in her eyes as she swallowed every last drop.

“Fuck...” he groans when she takes him into her mouth; a hand curling around the shaft. 

His eyes close and his hands burrow themselves in her hair. That soft mouth and slick tongue working together to drive him insane. Her hand pumping and stroking. She was incredible; the enthusiasm with which she tended to him, the skill in which she possessed, the way she needed nothing more than subtle guidance from those hands in her hair. 

“Jesus Christ...” he breathes, when she proceeds to deep throat him. He is long and thick. Much bigger than any other man she had ever been with. He had sensed as much when she had penetrated her for the first time that night back in Dhaka and she'd winced. He'd been worried about that; he didn't want to cause her any pain. Hurting her was the last thing that he ever wanted to do. 

She removes his cock from her mouth; tongue concentrating on the head as her hand continues to jerk him off. Pleased with the reaction she is getting from him; the heavy breathing, the hands gripping her hair, the movements of his hips. And his groan is much louder when she takes him fully into her mouth again. His hand painfully tight in her hair.

“I don't want to come like this,” he pants “I don't want to come in your mouth.” 

“It's okay,” she assures him.

“No. No it's not,” he insists, and wrapping an arm around her waist, effortlessly picking her up and dumping her onto her back. “I'll pull out,” he says, as her legs open and he settles himself between them.”

“You don't have to,” she says. “It's okay.”

“You're sure? Because we haven't been using anything and you said you weren't ready for another baby so...”

“It's okay,” she repeats, and wrapping her legs around his waist, presses her heels into the small of his back. She curls a finger around the chain he wears around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that muffles the cry that escapes her when he presses into her. Burying himself to the hilt; a low, feral moan escaping his lips at the sensation of being so deep.

He moves above her; forearms on the mattress supporting his weight. His eyes on her face the entire time. Their lips brushing against each other, his hair over his eyes and brushing against her forehead. Long, deep strokes that has her arching her back with each one, her heels pressing into him. 

“Look at me...” he gently orders, and those dark eyes flicker open. “...you're mine,” he growls. “Mine. You always will be. Tell me. I want to hear it.”

“I'm yours, Tyler. I'll always be yours.”

He smirks in approval, then covers her mouth with his own. His tongue immediately searching for hers; kissing her hard and long and deep as he continues to move inside of her. Until her own hips are arching off the bed and meeting him thrust for thrust. And she once again yanks his head up by the hair, and he shivers as she licks a path from his Adam's apple all the way to the underside of his skin. 

She licks her lips. Enjoying the taste of his cock that still lingers. And the hint of sweat. 

He removes one hand from the mattress and reaches back for her leg; fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls it up onto his hip. Allowing him to get even deeper. His eyes closing, head falling over at the sheer pleasure of it. 

Her hands roam his shoulders and his back; exploring every inch of those muscles. Loving the way they feel under her touch; the way they bulge and twist and turn. He's a thing of beauty. All man; musky smell, wiry body hair, sheer power and force. A specimen unlike any other she's ever been with. And she bites back a cry as he unleashes a harder thrust; harder than any of the others, one that pushes her up the bed. His stamina is the thing legends are made of, but she can tell he's close. The way his eyes darken and his brow furrows, how he exhales deeply and lets it go in a long, ragged breath.

She lifts her head to kiss him. Capturing his bottom lip between her teeth. Unspoken permission to let go. And he takes it, still holding himself up on his forearm, his free hand fisting her hair, yanking and twisting it. 

He angles his hip just right; so that every thrust creates contact on her clit. Removing his hand from her hair and covering her mouth when she comes; the scream muffled against his palm. An orgasm so powerful that her toes curl and her entire body stiffens and tears spill down her cheeks. And as she continues to convulse around him, he slips an arm under her and then sits back on his heels; the pressure of his fingers bruising soft skin as he yanks her towards him by the hips. The thrusts sloppy and fast, until he's coming as well. Biting back her name as it threatens to erupt from his lips. Coming deep inside of her, hot and thick bathing her womb, holding her tight against him until her clenching inner muscles drain him dry.

“Fuck...me...” he groans, and flops over onto his back. Chest heaving. A thin sheen of sweat covering his entire body. His eyes closed, arms limp at his sides. 

The mattress moves underneath him, and when he opens his eyes she's beside him on her stomach, face turned towards him, smiling . That sleepy little Cheshire cat grin she always gets after sex. 

“You good?” he asks.

“I can't feel my legs right now. But I think I'll be okay. You?”

“I think I might need to hit the gym harder. I'm losing my touch.”

“As if,” she grins, and then lets out a long, loud yawn. It was one of two things for her after sex; sleep or food. Tonight it is sleep.

Raking a hand through his hair, he sits up and gathers up the top blanket, draping it around his shoulders before lying down beside her and pulling her tight against him.

“I love you,” she whispers, as one of his large palms strokes her hair. “Please don't ever doubt that.”

“I won't,” he promises. “And I love you too. More than I ever thought I could love someone. More than I ever thought possible.”

She presses a kiss to that scar on the side of his throat, then nestles her face in that spot between his neck and his shoulder. 

He closes his eyes, attempting to find sleep.

But that sense of doom returns. 

The sense that they are living in the calm before the storm.


	9. Chapter 9

Esme wakes with the baby; eyes opening with the first sounds that come through the monitor. She pauses to watch Tyler as he sleeps alongside of her, flat on his stomach with his face turned towards her, a forearm under the pillow that lays scrunched beneath his head. He's at peace when he sleeps; the demons and the memories allowing him a reprieve before coming out to the play. Slumber has never come easy to him. His senses always on high alert. Brain and body having grown accustomed to reacting to a possible threat at the drop of a dime.

When he was first home from the hospital, he was plagued by nightmares. Horrible dreams that would have his body twitching and his face contorting with pain, low and tortured moans that would increase in both volume and intensity. Sweat coating his body from head to toe. His entire body would tense up right before he woke up, then he'd let out a strangled cry and spring up into a sit. Chest heaving and his breath leaving in his lungs in enormous, almost painful heaves. His eyes dark and stormy; furtively glancing around the room in a desperate attempt to get acquainted with his surroundings. Fighting as his brain teetered between the dreamworld and his actual reality. 

While the first two nightmares had terrified her, she had learned quickly that it was best not to react. To stay silent and motionless until he actually acknowledged her presence beside him. She'd made the mistake of trying to wake him a handful of times. When his tormented brain and body would be caught between what was real and what wasn't, and her mere touch would send him over the edge. He'd react as if she were the threat; grabbing her by the wrist or the elbow, pinning her arm behind her back as he flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her to the mattress. It wasn't his fault. She knew that. The monsters inside of him made him oblivious to everything when they whipped him up into that state. And she remembers trying to fight against him; those fingers digging painfully into her skin and that much heavier and stronger body holding her firmly in place. And she'd beg for him to stop. She'd cry out for him and she would try to get through to him; reminding him that it was just a dream, he wasn't still in Dhaka, she wasn't the enemy. 

Just as quickly as the nightmare came, it would end. He'd snap out of it and the enormity of the situation would instantly hit and he would become frantic when he realized what he had done. That rage in his eyes replaced by sorrow and disgust in himself. He would apologize profusely. He'd cry. And she'd hold him as he did, a hand on the back of his head as he sobbed into her chest. Her own tears dripping into his hair.

The guilt would last for days. Every time he'd catch a glimpse of the bruises that his assault had left behind.

Tonight he is at peace. Not a single muscle twitching or nerve firing as she moves beside him; rolling onto her side to face him, gently combing her fingers through his hair. He is boyish looking when he sleeps. His features relaxed, softer. Those impossibly long dark eyelashes brushing against the top of his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted, his breath slow and rhythmic. He's smiling. Not the small sad smiles or the weary, sullen ones. But a gentle smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. A smile of pure contentment. Of a man that has found a moments respite after a long day of doing battle with his own mind.

She pushes those stray locks away from his forehead and presses a kiss to his brow. His body reacts; cheek rubbing against the pillow and his breath escaping in a long, drawn out sigh. But his eyes never open. 

“He sleeps,” she whispers with a smile, and then cautiously slips her body out from under the heavy, muscular leg that he'd draped over her sometime during the middle of the night. 

She moves quietly and slowly as she climbs out of bed, locating both her tank top and a pair of yoga shorts, slipping into both and then padding towards the door. Grabbing one of his dress shirts that hung from the back of the door and shrugging into it.

****

She tends to the baby. Having to carefully step over Nik's resting and slightly snoring body as she sleeps beside the crib. One of her hands curled around one of the wooden bars, a desire to protect that tiny life that she had put herself in charge of. And while it comforts Esme to know that her old friend is there, it is still disheartening. Nerve wracking. Not that they have connected, but why they'd had to do it. A silent and unknown threat could be lingering right outside their door. It was naive to to think that there wasn't someone out there wanting for the chance to cause problems. 

A man like Tyler Rake steps on a lot of toes. Makes a lot of enemies. A by product of the job.

She'd been foolish anything to believe...to hope...that somehow they'd escape retribution. That the Tyler Rake his enemies knew was well and truly dead and would stay dead. If that's what they believed, it was better to leave it that way. He maintained no social media presence. If you searched his name on the internet, no results...aside from a man in Oklahoma having the same name...would be revealed. 

As far as the world was concerned, Tyler Rake didn't exist. His reputation perhaps, but no record of name or face. Just an unknown man that would do the tough and dirty jobs. Those who wanted revenge or justice or a family member returned would simply put out the word as to what they were looking for, and it would eventually get to him. But he never came face to face with those who hired him. He never spoke to them. He was just the one that did all the heavy lifting.

She reaches for the baby; speaking to her in soothing, hushed tones, a smile never leaving her face. Hands working to release her daughter of the confines of the swaddled receiving blanket.

“Daddy is way too good at this,” Esme whispers. “He wraps you up so tight. Like a little burrito. An Amelia Bean burrito.”

As she lifts the baby out of her bed, her thighs bumps against the crib. Causing the wooden bars to shudder. And Nik to snap awake. 

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Esme frets. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

“It's all right. Is everything okay?”

“She's just hungry. Always hungry. She doesn't want to stop eating.”

“She really is Tyler's daughter,” Nik remarks, and then frowns when she realizes the way it sounded. “That's not what I meant. I didn't mean for it to sound that way. As if I was questioning if she IS his daughter. I just mean...”

“That he eats a lot. It's okay. I understood. I'm the one that cooks for him, so I get it. No harm, no foul.” 

Nik pushes herself up into a sit and watches as her old friend tends to the basic necessities; a diaper change, a fresh pair of pyjamas, lots of kisses and cuddles and talking in that cute, melodic tone that has the baby smiling and reaching up to grab at her mother's hair. 

It's a side of Esme she'd never thought she'd see. While it wasn't her first marriage, it was definitely the happiest. She was loved. Safe. Protected. She never had to question his loyalty or worry about him shirking his responsibilities. Never had to second guess his faithfulness. Tyler was all in. In ways Nik had never seen before. Esme had changed him. In the same way he had changed her.

“You're good at this,” she says. 

“I just do what I need to do. I'm her mom. I just do the things moms are supposed to do.”

“But you do it well,” Nik informs her. “And not all mothers do it well.”

Esme smiles down at the baby, then lifts her to chest, a hand on the back of her head and the other holding her bum. “She makes it easy. She's a very good baby. She's very calm. Very laid back. Until she isn't anymore.”

“Very much like Tyler,” Nik observes.

“From head to toe. Inside and out. That man must have some seriously strong genes. I'm going to go and feed her. Go back to sleep, Nik. It's late. Or early. However you want to look at it. Thank you. For keeping an eye on her. Other than Tyler, there's no one else I would trust to do it properly.”

The other woman smiles. Touched by the sincerity in her friend's voice. Is that what they were? Friends? She hadn't felt it fit into the friend criteria for months now. There were a lot of things that had been left unspoken. Things that she had perceived as personal slights. A sense of loss and a lot of 'what if's' that she couldn't quite get past. She had lashed out and said things that she regretted. Things that had deeply wounded her friend and caused her to both harshly react and then shut the door entirely. Both had made mistakes. But Nik felt she shouldered more of the burden.

“Do you want company?” she inquires, as Esme heads for the door. “I always have a hard time feeling asleep once I'm up.”

“You don't have to. Jason is out there. We'll be fine.”

“It's not I have to,” she says. “It's that I want to.”

Esme smiles, and then jerks her head in the direction of the hallway before slipping out the door.

*****

They head to the kitchen. And while Esme sits at the table and the nurses the baby, Nik busies herself making a pot of tea. Pulling milk out of the fridge and sugar from the cupboard and setting them on the table. Leaning back against the counter, she rubs sleep from her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, watching her friend from across the room. Enjoying these snippets of domestic bliss that she's never particularly wanted for herself, but had almost come to envy. She'd been doing the job for a long time. Starting from the bottom and steadily making her way to the top. She'd been so engrossed in her career (could it really be called that?) that she never stopped to consider what she really wanted once it came to an end. Because it would. End. And she had no idea what she would do with her life once it did.

She watches Esme; marvelling at the tenderness, the motherhood instinct that had so easily kicked in the moment the results had come back that she was pregnant. She remembered that day vividly; wandering into Tyler's hospital room with fresh coffee and treats for her and her friend, ready for another long day of keeping each other company while they waited for updates on his condition, as he spent the day floating in and out of consciousness. There were very few fully lucid moments in those early weeks. A shocking amount of damage had been done to his body and he'd lost an incredible amount of blood, and the stress and the pain of the injuries had been putting a lot of stress on him. Doctors had opted to ease as much as that extra burden as they could, keeping a steady drip of morphine going and keeping Tyler as comfortable as possible. It was during those times at his bedside that Nik and Esme had had their most candid and often heartbreaking conversations. Where they'd cried on one another's shoulder and expressed their worst fears and shared their deepest and darkest secrets.

When she'd walked in that day she found Esme crying in the beside chair. Same spot, same place, every day. That waa where you'd find her. Sometimes she'd be reading a book or looking at something on her cell phone, but most of the time she would be reaching through the safety bars on the bed to hold his hands. And she'd smooth his hair away from his forehead and talk to him as if he could hear her and as if he would give a response. He'd react to her voice; opening his eyes briefly, attempting a smile, squeezing her hand. 

Little signs that gave enormous hope.

She'd had the railing down on his bed and her head resting against his thigh, her entire body shaking as huge, yet quiet sobs swept through her.

“What's happened?” Nik had asked, immediately in a panic, setting the coffees and bags of food down and rushing to her friend's aid. “Has the doctor said something? Are there problems? What..?”

Esme had looked up at her. Tears streaming down her face, her eyes haunted. Terrified. Not the hysteria that she'd shown on that bridge and during the hurried rush to the hospital, but just as intense.

“I'm pregnant.”

At first Nik had thought she'd imagined it. Or misheard. The words said so low and so quiet that they could have easily been mistaken. 

“I'm pregnant, Nik,” she repeated. “I'm having a baby.”

Tyler's baby?

The question had been on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't let it slip. She'd known that there was something going on during those five days holed up in that Dhaka hotel. She sensed it. And before that she'd seen the little glances they'd share from across the room. She'd them that night at the hotel on the city limits, after the final team briefing, sitting together at the pool. Their feet in the water and their shoulders touching, immersed in conversation. Tyler was different. He was more relaxed. Smiles and laughter came much easier to him than Nik could ever remember. 

Yes. She'd known.

****

She hadn't realized until much later how much she hated the mere thought of them together. When he and Nik had started sleeping together, Tyler had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want anything else. He wasn't looking for a relationship. He had nothing left of himself to give in that respect and all he wanted was something physical. A warm body to use for his own pleasure. Perhaps even wake up to on the odd morning following a late night of drinking and an even later night of sex. He'd told her that he'd never be that kind of man. The one with time and patience to devote to a relationship. And while he loved her and loved spending time with her, he wasn't in love with her.

Then Esme came along and everything changed. And it broke Nik's heart. She felt betrayed. Slighted. And all she could do was sit on the sidelines as the two of them fell in love and started a life together.

Yet she did what she could for both of them. Stepping up where Tyler couldn't because of being in the hospital and his physical limitations. After all, she was partly the reason he'd ended up in such a mess in the first place. She felt guilty. Responsible. So she'd stayed in Australia and helped the best she could. Attending doctors appointments, ultrasounds. Plastering a smile on her face even as resentment ate away at her. She'd never put much thought into a future. Being a wife. Having children. And suddenly it became something she obsessed over. 

Something she obsessed over with Tyler.

She'd felt guilty. Remorseful, and one day she'd just snapped. Accusing Esme of ruining her life. Of just wandering into things and taking whatever she wanted. Whomever she wanted. Calling both her and Tyler stupid for being so irresponsible and selfish. They'd been in Dhaka to do a job, not fall into bed with another. And if it had to happen...if they couldn't resist...why hadn't they been smart enough to be careful about it? A baby was difficult at the best of times. And that had been far from the best of times.

Esme had been six months along at that time, her belly growing bigger with child, her face glowing. She'd been two weeks away from getting married. And Nik had been harsh. Brutal. As sometimes the truth is.

After that, Esme shut her out. She was hurt. Perhaps even a tad threatened now that she knew of Nik's true feelings towards Tyler. And when Nik left Australia, all the phone calls and correspondence ended. Esme put up the wall and there was no way of getting over it. 

****

The kettle boils and Nik pours the water into a ceramic tea pot she finds on top of the fridge, carrying it to the table and taking a seat across from the other woman. 

“Congratulations,” she says. “She's beautiful. You and Tyler did good.”

Esme smiles, her eyes never wavering from her daughter. A look of pure adoration and love that nearly takes Nik's breath away. “Thank you,” she says. “And we did. We really did.”

“She looks just like her father. I was surprised at how much.”

“Why? Because you had your doubts she was even his?”

“I never said that, Esme.”

“You didn't have to. And I don't blame you for thinking it. Things were messed up. Complicated. And things happened so fast between Tyler and I. I understand why you would think it. But it still hurt. It still broke my heart.”

“I know,” Nik acknowledges. “And I'm sorry for that. Truly sorry.”

“I hadn't been with anyone in over year,” she continues. “Before I met Tyler. It had been thirteen months between the last guy and him. So there was no way that she couldn't have been his. And I didn't trap him. I didn't set out to get pregnant. And I didn't make him stay. I told him he didn't have to stick around. That he didn't have to feel obligated to marry me.”

“He didn't. He wanted to. He wanted to be with you. He told me that himself.”

“And I know he wouldn't have just taken off. I know he would have wanted to be in the baby's life regardless. He would have stepped up to the plate and took responsibility. But he didn't do all of that because he felt he had to. He did it because he wanted to.”

“I know. And I never should have said all those things. I regret them every day. But I was hurt too, Esme. And I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You had no idea that there was something between Tyler and I before you came along. I never told you because I didn't think there'd ever be a reason for you to really know. Then he nearly died and that was hardly the time to bring it up. You were going through so much. I didn't want to add anything else. But when you told me that he'd asked you to marry him and you said yes, well that was more than I could take. And I snapped. I said things I regret. But I didn't say them to hurt you. I said them because they were the truth. Because they needed to be said.”

Esme slowly nods, considering her friend's words. They were painful and hard truths. But they were painful and hard truths that needed to get out into the open. Instead of festering like a rotting, oozing wound.

Nik pours them both a mug of tea. Milk and sugar for her. Just milk for Esme. And the other woman smiles.

“You actually remembered something like that,” she says. “Something as simple as how I take my tea.”

“Why wouldn't I? It's what we used to do, remember? We'd sit with a tea and chat. Just like we are now.”

The discomfort is still there. Two wounded women trying to come to terms with all that had been said and done. But it isn't as heavy now. There's room to breathe.

“I'm sorry,” Esme speaks up, as she moves the baby to her shoulder; a hand rubbing smooth, slow circles on the infant's back. “I'm sorry that it hurt you when Tyler and I got together. But I don't regret it. I don't regret falling in love with him.”

“How could you? Why would you? Look at what the two of you have accomplished. You made another human being together. And she's so very beautiful. So beautiful and healthy and perfect and the two of you should be very proud. Of her. Of each other.”

“We are. We're in awe of her. In awe of knowing we could make something so incredible. Especially during such a horrible and ugly time. The fact that she came out of all of that, it's...surreal.”

“The only bright moment,” Nik agrees, and motions for her to hand the baby over. “Give her to me. Have your tea. Before it gets cold.”

She settles the baby against her. Loving how Amelia just snuggles right in; rubbing her face against Nik's t-shirt and yawning loudly before laying her head on her chest. She loves the smell; a mixture of milk and baby powder. And how silky the baby's hair feels when Nik drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“You're a natural,” Esme smiles. “She's likes you. Look how comfortable she is.”

“I quite like her as well. She's just a wee little thing. Way smaller than she looks in her pictures.”

“I'm glad. I was worried I'd have to try and push out something that weighed twelve pounds and had man sized feet already.”

“Your daddy is quite the big boy,” Nik says to the baby. “Tall and strong. You're going to be small like your mom. But feisty. You won't let anyone push you around, will you. You'll be more than capable of taking care of yourself. Your father will make sure of that.”

Esme laughs “I think he's already planning on how to teach her to kill grown men a hundred different ways using various household objects and her bare hands.” 

“That would not surprise me at all. He adores her. I could see it today when I watched him with her. It's a side of Tyler I've never seen. That I didn't even know existed. She has him wrapped around her little finger. We should all be so lucky to learn from you, Amelia. We should all learn how to wrap the big and scary ones around our fingers. Not that your daddy's scary. Not when it comes to the people he loves. And he loves you so very much. And your mommy.”

“Yes...he does...” Esme agrees. “...and we are lucky. So very lucky.”

“Thank you, Nik says, and her friend blinks. “Thank you for giving this to him. A normal life. For helping put him back together. Thank you for loving him the way that you do.”

Smiling, Esme reaches across the table and takes her friend's hand, squeezing tightly.

They stay like that until the sun begins to appear on the horizon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: strained parent/adult child relationship

Tyler parks his truck on the street in front of his childhood home. A well kept little white bungalow that sits on half an acre of land and backs out onto the beach. It isn't a trip that he makes often. It's only twenty minutes from where he lives on; hardly a difficult journey. But it is the memories that linger between those four walls that make it so. A frigid, less than welcoming environment that greets you the moment you step through the front door. Like a heavy, choking cloud of smoke. Before the events in Dhaka, he hadn't spoken to his old man in four years. His decision to leave for Afghanistan while his son battled the cancer that ended up taking his life had had consequences that had stretched beyond his reach. It hadn't just been the straw that broke the camel's back as far as an already troubled marriage was concerned. But it had driven a wedge between him and the rest of his family. They saw him as selfish. Immature. Weak. What he had done was unforgivable in their eyes.

When he'd nearly lost his own life, the old man had come to the hospital. Or so he had been told. He had only been there for three days in that medically induced coma, and his father had strode in and put on a good show for the nurses and doctors. Playing the part of a worried parent. Acting as if they'd been tight for years. Leading people to believe that he actually cared whether his only son lived or died. He'd brought a chaplain with him. Despite the fact his son never followed organized religion and had always rebelled against his parents' beliefs. 

The second time he came he'd brought Tyler's ex wife with him. An epic disaster. Nik had seen them coming down the hall and tried to cut them off at the pass, desperately trying to explain to both of them why it wasn't a good idea that they were. Especially that his ex was. Esme had just told him she was pregnant. They were dealing with the unexpected news that their first child was on the way while trying to figure out how she was going to function with being pregnant while helping take care of him. His father had known that he and Esme were together. That she wasn't just some random coworker or friend setting up camp at his bedside.

Tyler had been livid. He'd lost his shit on both of them. He was in pain. Frustrated with the things he couldn't do. Worried about the future. Terrified at the thought of becoming a father again. And absolutely fucking disgusted that the old man thought bringing his ex there was a good idea in the first place. It made no sense. He'd wounded her. Greatly. But not before she wounded him with her various affairs while he was deployed in the Middle East.

His father never returned to the hospital to see him. And he never saw his ex again.

The last time he'd had contact with his old man was right after the baby was born. A half an hour following, to be exact. He'd still been on cloud nine when he had called his father up, excited to share the news that Esme had had the baby. A little girl with his hair and his eyes. Healthy and perfect. All of seven pounds soaking wet. A beautiful daughter that they had named Amelia Grace. Grace after Tyler's mother. A lasting tribute to the one parent that had actually shown him any love and real affection as he grew up. A life cut tragically short. 

There had been no congratulations. No inquiries on how Esme or the baby were doing. On how he was doing. Just a terse “good on you, son,” before his dad had hung up the phone.

The conversation he'd had with Esme the night before had resonated with him. Striking a cord inside of him that he'd long ago learned to ignore. He didn't want to have the regrets she did when it came to losing her father. The guilt that she carried about not mending fences sooner and not telling him the things she so desperately needed to say before it was too late. It would be up to him to extend the olive branch; to start on the path to understanding and absolution. His father would never admit to his own wrong doings, but Tyler was ready and willing to admit to his own. And if that wasn't good enough for the old man, then he would wash his hands of him. He'd walk away and sever all ties. For good.

He kills the ignition and sits behind the wheel, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine as he gathers his patience. His father has never been easy man to deal with. Notorious for being an absolute failure at communication. It was his way or the highway. Always had been. Even in his advanced age. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a black SVU pull to a stop across the street, the engine idling as an unknown figure watches him through tinted windows. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end; not fear but the adrenaline that still kicks in at the hint of a threat. It's something that never goes away. The way your throat goes dry and your muscles tense and your brain begins to consider all possibilities and how to fight them. 

He's just about the reach for the glove box for the loaded Sig Sauer kept locked inside when he sees the driver's side window on the SUV begin to slip down. He hasn't carried since that day in Dhaka. At least not right on his person. But there's weapons conveniently stored away just in case. It's naive to think there isn't a threat out there. That you haven't made a lot of enemies.

“What the fuck...” he mutters, as Nik's security boy waves from the SUV.

He had told Nik he didn't want to be tailed. There was absolutely no goddamn reason why he needed to be. He didn't need a babysitter and was fully capable of taking care of himself.

“It isn't just you any more, Tyler,” she'd argued. “If you're taking the baby with you, Jason follows. End of story.”

They'd argued their cases against one another. He felt he didn't need security detail; even after the stint in the hospital and the time in therapy, he could still do some serious damage with his hands. Whereas Nik thought was a dangerous and extremely selfish way of looking at the current situation. Arguing there wasn't much he'd be able to do if he got cornered or jumped and he had his little girl with him. 

In the end, they'd come to an impasse; neither would back down or make concessions. 

But it is quite obvious now that Nik has won that particular battle.

Tyler hits the button for the power window. “Just what the hell are you doing here, mate?” he calls out. “Just what in the ever loving fuck are you doing here?”

“Nik told me to follow you. To keep an eye on things. So here I am.”

“You know, she won't fire you for telling her to fuck off. I've done it. More than once. Yet she still keeps calling me.” There were other reasons for that of course, but that wasn't something that young fella needed to know.

“She just thinks it's a good idea if I keep an eye on you,” he reasons. “I mean, if you were alone, this wouldn't be such a big deal. But seeing as you got a little one with you, well forgive me, but this seems a little more serious than usual.”

Tyler wants to tell the kid that he's being a condescending little prick and if he keeps it up, his ass will be the first one that Tyler kicks. But he doesn't get the chance. Head snapping to the right when he catches a glimpse of the front door of his dad's place opening. Watching through his sunglasses as the tall, gangly man with the head of shocking wet hair steps out onto the front porch, accompanied by a tiny woman with silver hair.

“I think you have a visitor, Tom,” she says, and waves towards the car.

Fuck me, Tyler thinks, but he manages a smile and offers a wave. More to his father than the old man's guest. She cheerfully returns the gesture, but his dad makes no move to do so. His hands shoved in his pockets, lips set in a stern line. But he sighs heavily. Tyler sees the way his shoulders rise and fall. He doesn't need to say how he feels. It's all plain as day in that reaction. 

Disdain. Disgust. Disappointment. 

“Are we really sure we want to visit the grumpy old fuck?” he asks his daughter, as she sits buckled in tightly to her car seat in the back.

He looks through the rear view mirror; a smaller one attached to the back seat enabling him to see her perfectly. Fast asleep. That little body rising and falling with each steady breath, long eyelashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks, a soother dangling precariously from her lips. Not a care in the damn world.

“I can't believe you're totally bailing on me here,” he teases. “We talked about this. You agreed to stay awake so I could get you to puke on his shoes if he acted like an asshole. Don't do this to me. Do me a solid and wake up.”

She sighs heavily. A tiny fist rubbing at her nose. But she continues to doze.

His father's guest now crosses in front of the truck, and she taps lightly on the hood and flashes him a dazzling smile and a wave goodbye.

Tyler looks back towards the house.

The front porch empty.

****

“I guess you didn't see me out there,” Tyler snidely comments, as he steps out onto the old man's back deck, carrying the baby carrier in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other. A peace offering. A pretty pathetic one but his dad did like his booze and always did have a soft spot for single malt. “Because there's no other reason why you wouldn't wait at the door for me.”

The old man sits in a lawn chair; feet buried in the sand and that day's newspaper open in front of him. His only response is to give a snort in greeting. And it takes Tyler back to all those times as a kid where his dad would have his face immersed in the paper at the breakfast table. He'd be attempting to tell the old man about something interesting he was learning in school or a good grade he got and all he'd be met with was silence. His mom on the over hand overcompensated for her husband's weakness. Smothering instead of nurturing. 

Tyler sets the bottle of scotch on the small wooden table beside his father's chair, then briefly clamps a hand down on the old man's shoulder before stepping around him. He leaves his sunglasses on but closes his eyes. The breeze on his skin is refreshing, the sound of the waves relaxing. This is where his love for the beach and being out on the water started. The sights, smells, and sounds. Luring him to escape the toxic environment he was forced to grow up in. As a kid he thought it was normal. Parents that fought all the time. Husbands that worked and drank too much and took their frustrations out on the wife and kids. The mother of the house obedient and subservient. 

He'd tried to emulate that that. Having never been taught the difference between healthy and unhealthy boundaries, it was easy to fall into the same bad habits and behaviours. It was different this time around. He knew his weaknesses. The things that he needed to work on. And he was determined to be a better husband and father, but a man as well.

“What's going on with your hair?” his father asks, as Tyler drops into the chair alongside of him. The baby carrier at his feet, facing him.

“My wife likes it like this.”

“What about your face? You don't own a razor?”

“She likes that too. Says I look better with a beard. She says its sexy.”

The old man scoffs.

“What'cha been up to dad?” he asks, as he removes his sunglasses and places them on the neck of his simple black t-shirt. “It's been a while.”

“I told you a long time ago to call me Tom.”

“And I told you a long time ago that you're my dad and that's what I'm calling you. Who's the lady?”

“Just someone from down the street. She pops by every now and then. Likes to bake me things. She likes my company.”

Tyler wants to ask if she's senile. Or if she's just a bad judge of character.

He keeps his mouth shut.

“I brought your grand daughter to see you,” he says instead.

“I see that. Why?”

“Because she's your granddaughter and I thought maybe you'd like to see her.”

The old man lowers the paper and glances down. “Well there's one thing you managed to get right,” he says. “Although it could have been a boy. Even if that didn't work the first time around.”

Tyler bites his tongue. Hard enough to taste blood.

“She's a cute little thing though,” the old man praises. “No denying that. How's the little lady? Amy? She didn't want to tag along too?”

“Esme. And she's fine. She's out spending much needed time with an old friend. So you and this lady down the street...”

“It's nothing like that.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“It's the way you said it. That tone in your voice. What you were insinuating.”

“I wasn't insinuating anything. I was just asking about the lady down the street. I was just making conversation.”

“She's just a friend,” he insists. “So get your head out of the gutter.”

Tyler snorts and shakes his head. The silence that follows is agonizing. And he absentmindedly picks at loose threads that hang from the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts. 

“You look good,” his dad remarks. “A lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“Last time you saw me I was practically dead. So I'd hope I look better.”

“Why do you that?” his old man huffs. “Why do you always have to have some sort of smart comment every time I ask you something? You've always been like that. Ever since you were a little boy. Someone tries to pay you an honest to God compliment and you open your smart mouth. You get that from your mother, you know.”

“I get a lot of things from her,” Tyler remarks. “Like my patience. My high tolerance for bullshit.”

“Perfect example of what I'm talking about right there. Why can't we ever have a normal conversation? Why can't we ever just sit down and chat without getting into an argument? Why do you have to turn around and be such a smart ass?”

“Oh I don't know dad. Maybe it's the fact that you've never been the best at communicating. Maybe it's because nothing is right no matter what I say. It never has been. Maybe it's because we haven't actually talked in almost a year.”

“I visited you in the hospital,” he points out.

“You brought my ex wife with you. Who I hadn't seen in four years. And you brought her with you, to where my pregnant girlfriend was. Solid move, mate.”

“She was worried about you!”

“She wasn't worried about me when she was fucking guys back home while I was over in Kuwait.”

“Let's not dig up the past, Tyler. She's not the only one who has made mistakes. You're not the only one with mud to sling.”

He holds his hands up with surrender and leans forward in his chair; elbows on his knees as the fingers of his right hand fidget with his wedding band. Sliding up up to his knuckle and back down, shifting it from side to side. Not a nervous habit. But one that creeps up when his temper starts to boil. He looks down at his daughter. Reminding himself that everything he does is for her. Every decision he makes. That he wants to be a better man. So she can grow up knowing what a good man looks like. And hopefully choose one.

****

“Just what the hell do you do in that job of yours anyways?” his dad asks. “To get yourself in that kind of mess?”

“I told you. Customer service.”

“Well I don't know what the hell kind of customer service job is out there that gets you into such a heaping mess. You'd look like you'd been over by a truck.”

Tyler wants to tell him that it was actually a car. He'd been hit by a car. It was a truck he jumped out of. But he doesn't.

“People hire me,” he explains. “When they need something taken care of. Jobs that no one else wants to do. They call the people I work for, the people I work for call me, and I get a say on whether or not I want the job.”

“Sounds fucked up if you ask me,” his father mutters.

“It is,” he agrees. “It is very fucked up. But it pays good. When it goes right, that is. But when it goes wrong...well when it goes wrong, it goes really wrong.”

His father nods, then pushes himself to a stand, making his way over to the outside bar area. “You want a drink? I'm going to crack this bottle open.”

“You go ahead. I'm driving.”

“I'm not telling you to drink the whole bottle. I'm talking about just one drink. Won't bother a guy your size. Your quite the big bastard now, ain't ya.”

“I put in a lot of time at the gym,” he reasons. “And I don't want a drink. I'm driving and I've got my kid with me.”

“It's one, Tyler. Come on. You know I hate to drink alone.”

“Well you're going to have to do it now. I don't drink anymore. I already told you that. Can't drink with the meds I'm on.”

“You can't tell me one will hurt you.”

“Dad...” his voice is stern, the old man blinking at the tone. “I said no. That's not who I am anymore. I had to put that all behind me. I didn't like where my life was going, okay. I owed it to my wife to not be that man. She deserved better.”

“Fine...fine...” he relents, but as he rummages through a cupboard for a clean glass Tyler can hear him grumbling. About not being a man's man any longer. About a letting a woman call the shots. About becoming soft. “You need to be the one in charge,” he says, as he rejoins his son. “Not the other way around. You're the one that calls the shots.”

“That's not how we do things in our house. We're a team. She takes care of me, I take care of her.”

“What kind of new aged bullshit is that?”

“It's 2021, dad. Not 1950. Things aren't the same anymore”

“She carry your balls in her purse?”

Tyler fights to keep his temper under control. He balls his hands up into fists; tight enough to cause the knuckles to crack. The vein in the side of his neck begins to throb. And he tells himself to get it under control. He's heard worse from better. To just let it roll off his back.

“Don't talk about her like that,” he says. “This isn't just some random girl off the street. This is my wife. The mother of my child. And you won't talk about her like that.”

“I'm just sayin' that...”

“You won't talk about her like that,” he stresses every word, and he sees the old man's eyes widen.

When he was growing up, Tyler always promised himself that he'd grow big and strong enough to hand the old man his ass. To punish him for the years of emotional and physical torment. For treating his mother horribly. But now the time has come and he can't even be bothered. He feels sorry for the old man. To have lived such a horrible life and that he'll be going to his grave such a cynical, miserable bastard. 

****

“I'm going away for a little while,” he announces. “For work.”

“Where to this time?”

“Bangladesh Someone there needs some work done. I'm the best guy for the job.”

His father frowns. “You sure you're up to going back to work?”

As sad as it is, Tyler figures that's probably the most concerned his dad been about his well being in his entire thirty six years on earth.

“I need to keep myself busy,” his eyes are on his hands as he speaks, left palm turned up, the thumb of the right pressing into the centre of it. That spot where the arthritis is deeply rooted. The pressure he applies oddly keeps him calm. “I'm going stir crazy being at home all the time. I've put the weight and the muscle back on. And then some. I'm good to go.”

Eighty percent, he'd told Nik. And that's eighty percent more than you had yesterday.

That eighty percent was hopefully going to be enough.

“What kind of work?: his old man asks “And don't say customer service.”

“Private security. They liked my service record with the army. I have what they want. It's my last job with the place I'm at and then I'm moving on.”

He sips his drink “Where to?”

“Colorado.”

It isn't a sure thing. Outside of Christmas plans, Tyler hasn't exactly brought up the idea of packing up and moving. But he's ready. Ready to get out of the game and on with his life. Where he can have a somewhat normal existence and be the husband and father his wife and daughter deserve. He can see himself being happy there. Surrounded by clear skies and mountains and fresh air.

“Long way from home,” his father remarks.

“It's where Esme's family is. She hasn't seen them in a long time. She misses them. They deserve to have her back. They deserve to know their granddaughter. Their niece. I wouldn't be leaving much behind here. Seeing as you and I...” his voice trails off. He's filled with regret. He's burnt so many bridges. Lucky enough to have repaired a few, but there were so many others that were too far gone. 

They could never see eye to eye. Joining the army fresh out of high school had been the way he'd rebelled. His father had wanted more from him. College. A white collar job. Or a trade that paid well. Tyler decided to pick the one thing he knew would piss his father off the most. And he'd excelled at it. Enjoyed the thrill of combat and the rush of danger on the battlefield. The camaraderie between soldiers. And the skills he'd learned had served him well. More than he ever thought possible.

“I guess you're expecting me to say sorry,” his father speaks up.

“I'm not expecting anything from you dad. We became strangers a long time ago. We haven't gotten along since...well maybe since ever. And I'm sorry. For whatever I said or I did that caused the issues. I just came here to say that. That I'm sorry. I'm sorry I disappointed you.”

The brutal honesty stings like hell. But it probably hurts him more than it hurts his dad. And that's the really sad part about the whole thing. That a man who has done the things he's done and has taken the lives he has isn't more hardened. 

Maybe he is getting soft.

The older man nods slowly, considering the heartfelt words. 

“But it's time for me to move on,” Tyler continues. “It's time for me to get on my life. My new life. I want to be the kind of husband mom never had. The kind of father I never had. I don't know how things are going to turn out. How bad things might get in Bangladesh But I didn't want to head there knowing I'd left all this bullshit behind me. I need a clean slate. A fresh start. And I guess I was hoping you'd tell me you're okay with that.”

“You do what you have to do. For your family. I won't stop you.”

Giving a derisive snort, Tyler stands up; his knee audibly cracks, his back aches. His hands are on his hips as he studies the horizon. The way the sunlight sparkles on the water, the birds that float and glide, the pleasure boats and sea-dos and the surfers taking advantage of the beautiful weather. 

He's suddenly desperate for a drink. An overwhelming longing. A desperate need to not only numb the physical pain, but that sense of dread that keeps rearing its ugly head.

He closes his eyes. Takes in slow, deep breaths. Fights to get those demons under control. This isn't part of the old Tyler he wanted back. That wasn't the deal he'd made with himself with he'd finally relented. The booze. The abuse of pain killers. Those weren't part of the deal. Yet here he is. Standing on his dad's back deck, seriously considering a stop at the liquor store and the pharmacy on the way home.

Get your shit together, he orders. Parts of the old Tyler, parts of the new Tyler. You don't need these parts. 

“I don't know what you want me to do,” the old man speaks up. “I don't know what you want from me, Tyler. You had a good life here. Your mother and I gave you a good life. And I'm sorry if you don't see it that way. If you feel we did wrong by you or...”

He abruptly turns on his heel to face his dad, unable to control the vehemence in his voice. Driven by pain and the fear of falling down a rabbit hole he can't get out of. Afraid of resorting back to old habits just to cope with the knowledge of just what kind of person he actually is. 

“I wanted a father,” he says “I wanted a dad. I wanted someone to look up to and do things with. That would encourage me to do better with my life. That would encourage me to be a better man. And I came here thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance there was just a sliver of that hanging around inside of you. That would try and convince to me to stay. That would tell me they'd miss me if I left. And not even me. Her,” he nods down at the baby, now awake and happy and alert within the confines of her car seat. “I know you hate me for the decisions I made. That I chose to go to Afghanistan when Austin was sick. And believe me, no one hates me more than I hate myself. But he's gone. He's gone and she's here. This is your granddaughter. She's been in this world for two months and this is the first time you've seen her. And you haven't even fucking looked at her. You haven't even asked if you could hold her.”

“Kids aren't my thing. Especially babies. You know I detest babies.”

“Un-fucking-real,” Tyler mumbles, shaking his head. 

“I told you she was a cute little thing. What more do you want from me?”

“Nothing. There's nothing I want. That shipped sailed a long time ago. But I was hoping you'd want her in your life. That you wouldn't be the miserable, spiteful old bastard that you've always been. Don't take how you feel about me out on her. She's innocent. She didn't ask to be here. She didn't ask to brought into this godawful shitty fucking mess. But it happened. She's here. She's my daughter, dad. And she's amazing. I managed to help make this. Of all the things I've done that should make you proud, this is it. I helped create something so amazing and perfect even though I'm a complete fucking disaster. Your only living grandchild and the best you can give her is a 'she's cute'. That's bullshit. Complete and utter fucking bullshit. I'm sorry...” he slips his sunglasses back onto his face and picks up the baby carrier. “...this was a huge mistake. Coming here was a mistake. Because nothing has changed. You can think what you want about me. You can hate me, you can disrespect me. But you won't disrespect my wife. And you damn well won't disrespect my daughter.”

And with that he walks away.

Another chapter closing on his past.


	11. Chapter 11

“I need your help.”

They share a blanket on the beach; the midday sun blazing down, a refreshing breeze rolling in off the water, the lapping of the waves rhythmic and relaxing. And when the moment her friend speaks, Nik's eyes snap open. There's an unmistakable sense of urgency in Esme's voice. A desperate plea. The only time she had ever heard something similar was during those early days in the hospital when Tyler's life still hung in the balance and the doctors would offer no promises on successful healing or a positive long time prognosis. She would be torn between a rage and hysterical grief; begging and pleading for some kind of sign that he was going to make it. The slightest glimmer of hope that everything was going to be okay.

Nik shifts her position on the blanket; going from prone on her stomach to sitting facing the other woman. They'd had a lovely afternoon of playing catch up; becoming more relaxed in each other's presence with each passing minute, quickly finding themselves laughing and smiling with the ease they'd had it in the past. They'd indulged with those with normal lives would call mundane: shopping, dessert at the a popular bakery, a walk in the surf, followed by a chance to bask in the sun. It had been a long time since Nik had been able to well and truly relax. Allowing the rays of the sun to bathe her skin, loving the feel of the sand between her toes, enthralled by the sights and the sounds and the way life 'down under' always seemed so much more relaxed and easy going. It felt good to put all thoughts and worries regarding their upcoming trip Dhaka on the back burner; refusing to allow the worry and the uncertainty to ruin their rediscovered fondness for one another.

As Nik had rested on her stomach and allowed the sun to beat down on her body, Esme had stayed uncharacteristically quiet. Sitting beside her, leaning back with her palms in the sand and her legs stretched out in front of her. Staring out at the water, lost in her own thoughts. Nik had left her to them; giving her that quiet time to decompress. She'd always been like that; high strung and anxious and nerves always on alert. The after effects of a bad marriage that may not have caused physical scars, but had left plenty of invisible ones. The weakness that seen her military come to a sudden end.

“What's wrong?” Nik inquires. She doesn't like that tone in her voice. It makes her uneasy. Rare, considering she was normally so unflappable. “What is it?”

“Before I tell you, you have to promise me that this doesn't go past us. It stays here. Between you and I. Promise me that.”

“That's a hard promise to make. If it's something that's going to get you hurt, or Tyler, or the baby...”

“Please, Nik. You're the only person I can go to with this. I wouldn't bring it up if there was anyone else. You have to promise me.”

“I don't like the sound of this. This is sounding like the start of a very bad decision. Which has become a bit of a startling habit for you over the past year. You're not in trouble are you? You're not having an affair or...”

“What?” Esme asks incredulously, unable to stop herself from laughing. “Oh my god, no. It's nothing like that. It has nothing to do with Tyler and I. Well, it does. But not like that. It has to do with him. And what happened to him. And you're the only person I can go to with this.”

“The only? If it's about him, did you talk to him about it first?”

“More or less. We started talking about. In a sense. But he shot it down pretty quick. I can't bring it up again. Not without causing major issues. Please...Nik...I need your help.”

She sighs and combs her fingers through her hair. And against her better judgment, she nods. A confirmation that she's willing to at least listen. 

Esme reaches for her satchel bag that had earlier served as a cushion to rest her head upon. Briefly rummaging through it before her hand surfaces with a piece of printer paper neatly folded into two. Inhaling sharply and exhaling slowly as she nervously offers it to her friend.

An eyebrow arch, Nik takes the paper from her and unfolds it. Eyes narrowing as she studies the black and white photograph before her. “Where did you get this?”

“Tyler had it. In a folder he was looking at the other night. He had it out after he talked to Ovi. Said he was doing research on who he thinks is causing all these issues. I went into his things after he went to the gym in the morning and I made a copy of it.”

“He wasn't supposed to show you this. I asked him not to. Because I knew how much it would upset you. You aren't in the job anymore. You haven't worked for me in eleven months now. You're not supposed to see these things. He isn't supposed to be talking about this at home.”

“It's not like I'm a newbie to this, Nik. I was just as deep into it a year ago as you two were. You weren't the only one standing on that bridge when this went down. I'm not some naive little house wife that has to be kept in the dark. Who has no clue what kind of bullshit her husband is getting mixed up in when he was he's going on a business trip. I'm not one of THOSE wives. And we know plenty of those. I was just as involved in this as you were.”

“You were involved. Were. That's the keyword here. This doesn't involve you now. And he shouldn't have shown you this. This is inside intel. This isn't for outside eyes.”

“It involves me when you want my husband to travel...alone...thousands of miles away to get mixed up in whatever God knows kind of shit show that is going on there. It became my business all over again when you weren't satisfied with the help he was already giving you and you wanted more.”

“It wasn't like that. Tyler called me. He offered to help. He...”

“And you took it. You took it without even considering that he isn't the same man he was a year ago. It was a miracle he survived, Nik. You know that. All medical science and rational logic says he should have died. But he didn't. And he tried to walk away and you just sucked him right back in. It should have been enough. The help he was giving you. But it wasn't.”

“This wasn't done to be intentionally sneaky,” she promises. “This wasn't being kept from you. We talked about it. After he called me about Ovi. And he told me that he wanted back in. One last time. That he needed to go back and protect the kid. At all costs. He said that you agreed with him. That you practically pushed him to do it. That you were the one that brought it up. You can't have it both ways. You either want him to help, or you don't.”

“I want you to promise me that he's going to be okay. I want you to look me in the eye and promise me he is going to be fine. Because I need him to be. I need my husband, Nik. And my daughter needs her father.”

“I promise you that I will do my best to control the situation. That there will be others there, having his back. I will not this get out of hand. A year ago, we were played. All of us. That's not going to happen again. I promise you. But this...” she nods down at the photo. “...I asked Tyler not to show this to you. Not to talk to you about it.”

“Why?” 

“Because I knew what it would to do you. Because he'd told me that you'd be having a hard time accepting what happened. That you were struggling to let what happened in Dhaka go. And before that upsets you, he wasn't saying that in a bad way. He's worried about you, Esme. He sees you struggling. You won't open up to him. You push him away when it becomes too much. And that worries him. That scares him.”

“I can't let it go. I can't. I need closure. I need to back there. To that bridge. I need to back there and stand where it happened. I need...”

“Don't do this. Don't do this to yourself. Going back there isn't going to change what happened. The ending won't be different. It will have still happened. Don't you see that? Going there changes nothing.”

“It's closure. And I need that. I so desperately need that. How am I supposed to go on when I can't put it behind me? I know it doesn't make sense to you. I know it doesn't make sense to Tyler. But it makes sense to me.”

“You have to stop letting this eating you alive,” Nik implores. “He didn't die that day, but you're going to lose him if you don't stop this. Because he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to help you. He's worried. He's worried and he's scared and he's lost. You talk about needing him to be okay, but have you ever stopped to think that that's what he needs? That he needs you to be okay? He doesn't want to lose you. And sometimes he feels like he is. Sometimes he feels like you never came back from Dhaka. That you're still standing on that bridge.”

Tears threaten, nostrils flaring as she inhales sharply. “He told you all this? When?”

“When you were out with Jason yesterday. After I agreed to let you and the baby go along. I could tell he was troubled. It's not something that he hides very well. He never has. You have to let this go. If not for yourself, for him.”

“I can't. Not until I get what I need. I have to do this, Nik. I have to. And I need you to help me.”

“Esme...”

She ups the ante. “You came to me, remember? When you needed to fill Gaspar's spot. You tracked me down. And I was doing just fine where I was. You asked me to take that spot. And I did. No questions asked. And when you threw me into that crazy fucking bullshit of a mess in Dhaka, I went along with it. Because you needed me. Well now I need you. I need help getting past this. And you're the only one who can help me do that.”

Nik sighs heavily, eyes briefly closing. She knows she is going to regret this. That if it backfires it will get ugly. Extremely ugly. 

“Tyler can't find out,” Esme says. “You can't tell him. You have to promise me. You have to promise me that you won't say a word to him. You say he's worried and he's scared. Why make that worse? This has to stay behind the two of us.”

“Fine. I'll help you. But if this goes bad...when it goes bad...”

“I'll cross that bridge if I get to it. I need to know who this kid is, Nik.”

“His name is Farhad. A street kid that was desperate to prove himself to Asif. It's why he did what he did. To prove to Asif that was worthy of his attention and his praise.”

“I know his name. I know he's the one that shot Tyler. But I need to know more. I need to know everything. I want to know where to find him.”

“Why? For what? What good will finding him do?”

“I want you to track him down. I want you to find out everything there is to know. And I want to meet him.”

“No. Esme. No. This is where I draw the line. This is where I put my foot down. This is going too far. You're obsessed. This is an obsession. Don't you realize that? Don't you realize how bad this has gotten? This is going to destroy you. This could destroy your life. Your entire future. Is that what you want? You want to lose him? Because if you do this, if Tyler finds out that you lied to him and you went behind his back...”

“I'm doing this for him. He deserves justice. Revenge.”

“But that's not what he wants. He wants to go on with his life. With you. He wants you to let this go.”

“And I will. Once you do this for me. Once you do this for me, I'll be able to move on. I'll get the closure I need. I'll walk away from that part of my life and never look back.”

“If I do this...if I manage to track this kid down...I'm only doing it under one condition. I go with you. You don't go running off alone. You don't go putting yourself in that kind of situation. I'll arrange a meeting and I'll go with you.”

“To the bridge.”

“Esme...”

“To the bridge, Nik. The exact spot. That's where it has to be. Can you make that happen? Will you make that happen?”

“Do you agree to my terms? That you don't do this alone? That I go with you? Because that is the only way I'm agreeing to this. I'm not going to sit idly by while Tyler loses one of the only two things he truly cares about in this world.”

“I agree. You can come with me. As long as it's on that bridge. It's important, Nik. I know you don't understand why. But it is.”

“Fine,” she concedes. “I'll help you. I'll do it.”

They shake on it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: SMUT

Four hours later Esme finds herself in the kitchen. Barefoot in denim shorts and simple white t-shirt, up to her elbows in soap and water as she scrubs the dinner dishes. Tyler works alongside of her; unusually quiet (even for him) as he dries the items waiting in the drainboard. It is these moments of normalcy that they have learned not to take for granted. That easy, smooth way that they work side by side even during the most mundane of tasks. They have never had to resort to mindless chit chat; their silences had always been comfortable, never awkward. Meshing right off the hop. Easily able to read each other's cues, recognize one anothers body language, allow their eyes and their facial expressions to do the communicating if need be. In the five days they'd worked side by side, they'd become very much in tune with one another. Their very different skill sets playing off each other well. 

And there had been the other aspect as well. Giving in to that sexual tension and suffocating need for physical contact. To feel alive again. To be reminded that they were worthy. That they were broken, but still good.

A year ago they were in entirely different places; he in that rundown shack of a house in the outback as she floated from motel to motel, working her way through North America. Spending an extended amount of time in New York City, subletting a quaint little studio apartment in lower Manhattan.

A week before they'd met she'd started packing up her things and putting them into storage. Nik had tracked her down through G and offered her a job. She'd have her choice on where she wanted to settle down. The Big Apple wasn't on that list. Her plan had been to repeat the nomad lifestyle of living out of suitcases and ending up wherever life and the job took her. She'd been doing it since leaving the corps and it had become second nature to her. As if it were normal and everyone did it.

I have a job for you, she can hear Nik's voice as clear as day. I need some intel work done. An inside person. A drug dealer in Dhaka has kidnapped another dealer's kid. Information is slow coming. I need you to go there and get your pulse on things. Make friends with the locals. Get them to trust you. Word has it he's being held in or around the market area. But there's a catch. And I need you to trust me when I say I know it sounds crazy but I know it's going to work.

The next day she was on a helicopter heading for Australia. Out into the middle of nowhere to meet 'the catch'. 

Only Nik hadn't told her 'the catch' was as insanely attractive as he was. Or as haunted and broken. He was an immensely private person; tortured by the bad decisions and the demons of his past. And she'd been intrigued by him. By the mystery that surrounded him. By the walls that he'd built up around himself. He was an enigma. A challenge. And she had found herself captivated by those brilliant blue eyes, that sad smile, and that voice. Low and steady, his accent dripping off every syllable. Physically he was a tall, cool drink of water on a hot summer day. Pleasing. Refreshing. But it was the way in which he carried himself that had drawn her in. Confident. Not cocky. A man that lived on the edge and showed no fear. 

A death wish, Nik had told her on the way home. It's why he takes the jobs he does. It's not really the money. It's the hope that one day, the job is going to take him out. That it will make it all end.

A month later she was out of the job. Just as abruptly as she had gotten into it. Back in Australia and in charge of handing over possession of that shack in the outback to one of Tyler's friends while he himself teetered between life and death in that hospital. She'd found herself wandering down a new and often terrifying path. Starting an entirely new existence with the help of Nik and the surviving members of the team. A new life in a new country in a small two bedroom bedroom apartment. Spending the majority of her waking hours -a lot of her sleeping ones- at his bedside.

Four weeks after that she started feeling sick. Rundown. Taking the nausea, the headaches, the fatigue, and even her missed cycles, as signs of stress.

Until two little pink lines had told her otherwise. 

*****

She had bought the test on a sheer whim. A lineup in the hospital pharmacy bringing her directly into the aisle where they were store. She'd grabbed one, and hadn't even given it a second thought until later that evening and she'd gone into shopping bag for something she'd needed. And she can vividly remember sitting there on that cold porcelain toilet in the washroom connected to his private room. Barely thinking about that test that now lay on the sink ledge. There were too many other things to think about it. She couldn't remember when she had her last meal. Her last shower. Her family was leaving her strings of endless text messages and emails demanding to know where she was. Who she was with. Was she okay? It was too much. All too much. There was already an overwhelming heap of sadness and worry on her plate. Why would whatever higher power (if there was one) just add something else.

And then there it was. Her new reality staring her in the face. Things were already serious enough, and now there was a whole other layer being added. There was a life growing inside of her. During all that craziness in Dhaka....within those four dirty motel walls...she had had a hand in creating another human being.

She can even remember his face when she'd told him. The lucid moments were more frequent by then. The amount of pain medication being pumped into him had let up and he was conscious more often than not. Still struggling with remembering all of the details of what happened. Things were hazy; he wasn't sure if he was recalling things that actually happened or if it was what he had wanted to happen so his brain was manifesting them as actual memories. He could vividly recall everything up to the moment that he'd been shot in the neck. He could even remember the sensation of choking on his own blood and feel it seep between his fingers. He was fairly certain he'd made it to the sidewalk along the bridge. But after that...nothing. Nothing concrete and clear anyway. 

He still hadn't had a lot of strength. He grew tired and weak easily. But he would smile. Even laugh. He'd even bitch at her when she'd attempt to trim his beard and keep it under control. And he'd wrap her in his arms and pull her down onto the bed with him and he'd hold her. They wouldn't talk. She'd just lie there in his embrace as he played with her hair. Her head on his chest, listening to his heart. 

Some days, they'd go for walks. He'd refuse to use a wheelchair, even on the days where he felt the most pain and the most weakness following his knee surgery. He hated feeling helpless. Weak. And she'd always try to ensure him that he wasn't any of those things. What he was, was alive. Recovering. And that's what mattered the most. 

It had been on one of those walks that she'd told him about the baby. Sitting on a bench when he needed a break and a chance to rest the knee. And the sun had been high in the sky and the breeze had been crisp and fresh and the sounds and sights of live continued around them as she dropped probably the second biggest bombshell of his life on him. It was the first time a silence between them had been agonizing. And she'd been screaming internally at him. To say something. Anything. To tell her that this wasn't the worst thing that could happen. That this wasn't the end of the world. That this was just another thing that they'd get through together. 

He had just stared at her. Shell shocked. Things had happened quick between them. They hadn't had time to catch their breath. And they hadn't wanted to fight it. 

“You're sure?” he'd finally asked, and it wasn't until he spoke that she became aware that she was crying. She usually kept tears to herself. She didn't like him seeing her in that kind of state. She had to be the stoic and solid one now, after all. 

She told him about how she'd been feeling. The nausea. The migraines. The inability to sleep. The missed periods. She should have started just after the events in Dhaka. But it had never arrived and she'd just assumed that her body was in shock over everything that had went down. 

Then he'd said the single most hurtful thing she'd ever had anyone say to her in her entire life. She'd tried to remind herself that this was all happening so fast. Too much, too soon. What did they really know about each other outside of the walls of that crappy motel? They'd jumped head first into...something. It couldn't really be called a relationship, yet casual sex didn't seem serious enough. They were falling in love with one another. But they weren't in love. Not yet.

“Is it mine?”

She had wanted to slap him. She'd wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and strangle him. But she didn't blame him for asking. She understood his trepidation. If she'd fall into bed with him that easily, what's to say it wasn't a reoccurring behaviour for her?

When they'd been holed up in the motel she'd told him about her failed marriage. About her ex husband and his issues and the torment and torture he'd brought into her life. And on that bench she told him that she hadn't been with anyone besides him in over a year. That sex had never been an overwhelming need. 

Until she met him.

“You don't have to stick around,” she'd told him. “I don't expect that from you. If this isn't what you want...if I'm not what you want...you just have to say it, Tyler. I won't hate you. I'll walk away and I'll never bother you again. You don't have to be a part of this.”

Those dark eyes had immediately clouded over. His mouth setting into a grim line.

“Is that really what you think of me? You think that little of me? That I'd do something like that? That I'd just let you walk away?”

“You already have a lot on your plate. You're healing. It's going to take a long time. And you don't need me being in your way. You don't need me hindering you.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his eyes had narrowed, his voice low. Almost menacing. “Is that really what you think? You think I don't want you here? You think I look at you like some kind of obstacle in my way? The only reason I'm doing this...the only reason I held on and I keep hanging on...is because of you. For you.”

That had made her cry even harder. And her face had dropped into his chest; his fingers burying in her hair as he held her to him. 

“I love you,” he'd said. It was the first time he had let those words come out. He'd later confess that he'd been feeling them since the beginning. Maybe not love itself. But the realization that he was falling in love. “I love you and everything is going to be okay. We're going to be okay.”

She'd cried into his chest. Telling him that she loved him. That she hadn't meant to fall in love with him. Maybe it shouldn't have happened. Dhaka hadn't been the ideal place to meet the love of your life. But it had. And she didn't regret that.  
For a long time, neither of them had spoke. They'd just sat on that bench as she clung to him and he consoled her. And then he'd gently yanked on her hair in an effort to get her to look up at him. Those blue eyes had been sparkling again. There was a smile...a genuine smile...curving his lips.

“We're having a baby,” he'd said. “I'm going to be a dad.”

They have never taken things slow. It simply wasn't in their nature. After that first night in Dhaka, they never looked back. They'd given into lust. The promise of something new. Empowered by the realization that someone wanted them. Needed them. That maybe...just maybe...their two broken halves could make a slightly dented whole.

****

“How'd it go today?” he asks now, as he stands behind her and reaches over her to place dishes on the higher shelf. “Your little girls day.”

“Good. It was fine. It was nice to forget about everything else for a while.”

When she'd gotten home, she'd run that photograph of Farhad through the paper shredder. Covering her tracks. Something she'd become good at thanks to the job. But the rule of thumb was that no matter how smart and cunning you thought you were, there was always someone smarter and far more cunning. 

And that person is Tyler Rake.

She watches the way his hands move as he does something so simple as drying cutlery. They're big. Powerful. Calloused palms, long, thick fingers, scarred and swollen knuckles, and wide wrists that lead into muscular forearms. And she notices...obviously not the first time...just how attractive he actually is. Those eyes. That mouth. The way his hair falls over his right eye. The scars and the tattoos. All mixing together to create on hell of a man.

“You're staring at me,” he says, snapping out of her reverie. A grin playing on his lips. “That's creepy. Stop being a creeper.”

“Dick head,” she retorts, and flicks soap and water at him. 

He's mocking her. Playfully, of course. Using the exact words she'd tossed at him during their first massive blow up in Dhaka at year ago. When she'd disappeared from his sight in the market after he'd distinctly told her not to leave his side.

“I told you to stay right next to me,” he'd roared. “I told you not to wander off on your own. That I wanted to be able to see you. At all times. That I wanted to be able to feel you beside me. To even smell your hair if it comes down to it.”

“Is that what you've been doing while I'll sleep?” she'd shot back. “Smelling my hair? That's creepy. Don't be a fucking creeper, Rake.”

She'd meant it as a joke. To break the tension. But it had only made things worse. And the floodgates opened and all the pent up rage just came exploding out of them. His hand wrapping around her neck and his fingers digging into her throat, his eyes menacing as he backed her up against a wall.

“Do you think this a fucking game? Does it look like I'm fucking joking?”

The fight had been intense. His anger raw. And he'd been powerless to contain it. Or what happened when it had transformed into something so much more. Greedy hands pulling at each other's clothes. Hungry, needy kisses. His hands biting and bruising as he took her right there and then up against that wall.

****

She clears her throat noisily and fights the urge to splash cold water on her face. Her hormones have been out of control. Especially within the last week. He's always had a powerful effect on her. It took for very little effort on his behalf to rile her up. But this level of intensity...this level of need...was something she'd never experienced before.

“Admiring,” she corrects. “Not staring. I was admiring. In case you haven't noticed, you're pretty easy to look at.”

“Yeah?” he steps behind her once again, an arm circling her waist. Palm against her stomach, drawing her tight against him. He drops his head, his hair and the tip of his nose brushing against the nape of her neck. And he feels her shiver against him when he presses his groin against her ass.

He can't help but smirk.

So easy. It's always been so easy.

“You're not too hard to look at yourself,” he says, his breath hot against the back of her neck. He's feeling it too. It's always been intense between them. The sex incredible. But since the decision to return to Dhaka, the desire and the longing and the desperate need had only increased. He couldn't get enough. Didn't want to ever get used to getting enough. Afraid that at this time next week, one of them may not even exist anymore.

He swallows heavily and closes his eyes. Desperately trying to rid himself of those thoughts. They'd come this far. They'd gotten through some serious shit. There was nothing that could possibly come between them now. He nuzzles his face in her hair; inhaling the sweet of the sweet, fruit scented shampoo she favours. Committing that smell to memory.

Just in case.

His mouth is soft and warm against the back of her. Feathery kisses that make her shiver and her pulse quicken. And his hand slides from her stomach to her stomach; both palms gliding over the cheeks of her ass before bringing one of his hands down in a ringing, stinging slap. A smirk on his face as she bucks against him, his fingers roughly grabbing at the spot he'd hit.

“You're a fucking dick!” she exclaims, wincing, struggling to turn around to face him. “That hurt. Fuck you, Tyler.”

He uses his body weight to pin her in place, sliding a hand between her legs. Feeling the heat and the moisture that pools there, even through the fabric of her shorts and the panties she wears underneath.

“That's exactly what I want to do,” his voice rumbles deep within his chest. “Fuck.”

****

They make it as far as the living room. Clothes hastily discarded, forming a trail behind them. With the baby asleep, and Nik and the rookie back at their hotel for a remote final strategies meeting with the team, they once more have the run of their own place His hands are rough and needy as they explore her body. He knows every inch by heart; every secret little spot that, when manipulated, drove her insane. He can remember the early days; that fascination and wonder that comes with getting to know someone elses body. With learning what they liked, and showing them things that they'd never experienced before. It had been that way for him. After his first marriage had broken up and he sworn off ever going down that road again, he'd had his fair share of hook ups; randoms he met in bars, friends of friends, women in different countries that -if he was in town- he could call up for no strings attached sex. Esme had been the opposite. Two men before him. Including her ex husband. So Tyler had taken it upon himself to show her exactly what she'd been missing.

Her body is softer now. Her hips wider. She's had a baby. His baby. And while it's familiar, it's still exquisite. A beautiful wonderland that only he gets to visit. And he still worships it...and her...as much as he did when they first met. And as often as he can. 

He stands above her as she lays sprawled on the couch, ready and waiting. Chest heavy, his eyes hooded as they take in every inch of her. Those dark eyes filled with desire, the flushed cheeks, those full supple breasts with their rock hard nipples. Stroking his own cock as he watches her playing with her clit. Exactly like he told her to. Growing even harder when her eyes close low and her head falls back, a long, tortured moan escaping her lips. 

“No,” he says, when he senses she's close, and he yanks her hand from between her legs. “I get to do that.”

She reaches for him but he shoves her hand away.

“Sit up,” he orders. “Back against the couch.”

She does as she is told. The perfect little submissive that she is. He gets off on it. Knowing just what he can get away with. The kind of punishment that he can not only inflict on her, but that she can actually take. No woman had ever given him that kind of freedom with their body. None had ever had that pure, blind trust in him.

He tenderly cups her cheek his hand, turning her face up towards him as he kisses her. Soft. Sweet. His other hand still tending to his erection, and he backs away when her fingers come in contact with him.

“Not yet,” he tells her, and then drops to his knees between her thighs. Sliding his hands between her and the couch in order to grab her by the ass, yanking her forward to give him access to what he really wants.

She gives a small cry the second the tip of his tongue makes contact with her clit. Bathing it with long, agonizingly slow licks that has her toes curling and her back arching. His fingers biting into the soft flesh of her ass when when he uses his tongue to penetrate her; jerking himself off as he tongue fucks her. Using it in the same way he could his cock. Spurred on by the obscene noises that are escaping are mouth and the fingers that are scraping across his shoulders. 

“Tyler...” she whimpers, and her hands are in his hair and her hips are rising from the couch to match every move of his tongue. “...shit...fuck...Tyler...”

And when he knows she's close...when he knows she's teetering right on that edge...he abruptly stops. Leaving her a near sobbing, panting mess as his hand drops away from his cock and he stands.

“Get up,” he demands. “I want you to get up.” 

Her legs are trembling. Weak. And he gently grabs a hold her arms and helps her to feet, pulling her into him a for a long kiss. The tip of his tongue briefly touching hers before gliding along the roof of her mouth.

“I want you to ride me,” he says. As if she has a choice in the matter. This is his game. He's in charge. And she never resists when he is. “I want you, to fuck me.”

She nods in understanding, and he runs a hand through her hair and grabs a hold of the tresses. A firm hold. But not hard enough to hurt. Just enough pressure to pull her head back so she looks at him.

He smiles. It's soft. Reassuring. They've been playing these games for almost a full year now. She knows he'd never hurt her. That with the simplest word or the hint of discomfort, he would stop. She trusts him. Maybe too much at times. An almost blind faith that both flatters and frightens him. 

It's his turn to sit on the couch. Thighs splayed, his hand finding his own cock again. The other reaching out for her, resting on the small of her back and giving her that extra sense of security as she straddles him. Those small hands resting first on his shoulders and then sliding down onto his chest. He guides her with that hand on her back and the other around his erection, lining it with that warm, moist, welcoming entrance.

“Fuck...” It's his turn to groan, eyes closing and head falling back as she sinks down onto him. And she pushes her hips forward, a movement that has him bottoming out inside of her. And he releases more profanities and a low hiss when her nails dig in; scraping down his chest and over his nipples. 

She pushes her torso forehead, and laying a hand on the back of his head, pulls him forward. His face buried between the valley of her breasts as begins to ride him. Slow, smooth movements that is torturous for them both. His hands slid up her thighs and over her hips. Up her back to her shoulders. And he takes one of those hard nipples into his mouth. Rolling it along his tongue before stepping up his game; fingers pressing into the soft skin of her shoulders as he aggressively sucks. And she moans at the sensation, her fingernails digging into his scalp as she moves faster. 

His hands drop to her hips, removing his face from her chest and allowing his head to fall back onto the couch cushion. Sweat beads on his brow and at his temples. His chest heaves from the work it takes just to hold back. Allowing her to have this moment. Where she is the one in control. Temporarily giving her that power. 

She smiles down at him and kisses him; her teeth painfully digging into his bottom lip when she pulls away. 

“You like this, yeah?” he asks, as he fights to keep his hips still “You like being in charge, don't you.”

She nods, and drops her head into the space between his neck and his shoulder. Where she kisses, licks, and nibbles at the side of his throat and bulging trap muscle.

“Jesus...fuck...” he winces when her teeth dig in. Hard enough to break the skin. And that signals the end of their little game. It's time to take that control back. He wasn't a submissive man. He never could be. Never will be. And curling an around around her waist, yanks her off of him and tosses her onto the couch.

“Kneel...” he orders, and she's watching him over her shoulder and running the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip as she does so. He smirks, loving that innocent look she gives him. Those huge eyes and her hair wild and tumbling over her shoulders and swaying against the sides of her face. “...fucking do as I say,” he snarls, when she hesitates. “...I'm in charge here. Got it? I said fucking kneel.”

He snatches her by the hips, positing her exactly where he wants her, using his own knee to push her legs apart.

“Down...” he lays a hand on the back of her head, pushing her face into the back cushion of the couch. “...just do as I fucking say, alright?”

She nods.

“What? I didn't hear you.”

“Yes. I'll do what you say.”

“Yes, you'll do what I say, who?”

“Tyler. Yes I'll do what you say, Tyler.”

“Wasn't so hard was it? Huh? What did I just ask you? I asked you if that was so hard. Was that hard to do?”

“No.”

“But you want it be, don't you. You want something hard. Inside of you. Say it. Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

“I want it,” her body shudders as she talks, and she shoves her ass out towards him. “I want you. I want you inside of me.”

“That's a good girl. Such a good girl,” he kisses his way down her spine, runs the tip of his tongue over the small of her back. Over that tattoo that she'd gotten when she was eighteen and regretted ever since. He'd laughed when he'd first seen it. Not because it was horrible. Far from it. But because she'd actually wanted to leave her shirt on so he wouldn't see it. Mortified at her teenage decision. 

She shivers at the sensation of the cool air on her skin, and her eyes close and her head drops forehead as he pushes into her. Not the brutally hard thrust that she had expected. But slow and deliberate. Letting her feel each and every inch until his balls are settled against her ass.

“I love you,” he whispers against her back, a deviation from the stone cold and demanding persona he'd been just minutes before. “I love you so much. And I can't lose you. I can't.”

She opens her mouth to tell him that she loves him. More than he could ever possibly comprehend. But all words are lost as he pulls out and then pushes back in, listening to that low growl that he emits, feeling those fingers digging into her hips. 

He says nothing more. Neither the calm and quiet Tyler or the rough and demanding one. The hand on her shoulder that holds her in place is gentle, barely touching her. And those fingers on her hip release their painful grip and his hand slides around to her stomach. He moves inside of her. Long, smooth strokes that she swears can feel the way into the pit of her stomach. 

He grunts when she pushes her ass against him, and he reaches around to pull her hand away when she attempts to reach between her legs for that extra pleasure. Replacing her hand with his own, fingers easily finding her clit and rubbing deftly at it. Until her body begins to quake and her back stiffens. His name leaving her mouth in a sob that's muffled by the cushion underneath her. 

He continues to rub that painfully sensitive nub until he's coming as well. His head falling forward, eyes closing, profanities spilling from his lips.

****

“You realize we're probably never coming back here, yeah?”

They lay in the middle of the living room floor. Naked bodies wrapped in the flannel throw that's kept on the back of the love seat. A cushion from the couch serving as a pillow. Moonlight streaming through the patio door. 

She raises her head from his chest to look at him. One of his arms wrapped around her, the other behind his head. Brow furrowed as he stares at the ceiling. She hates that look on his face. Dark. Intense. His adrenaline is starting to kick it up a notch, driven by the nerves and the bizarre sense of excitement that you feel before every job. The softness in his features his gone. 

This is the old Tyler. She recognizes him well.

And although she'd encouraged it, his emergence scares her. Just a bit. More for him than for herself. Even the old Tyler was trustworthy when it came to her. Protective. Almost too much so. He would never hurt her. But when it came to his own well being, he was reckless. And she was worried if he crossed that line, that she may never get him back.

She moves onto her side, propping herself up in her elbow. Side of her head resting in her palm as she watches and waits. Her free hand on his chest, fingertips softly gliding against his soft skin and over the scars that use his body as a canvas. 

“You do realize that, right?” he finally looks at her. His eyes are hard. Lips set in a grim line.

“You mean come back here as in here here or as in...” she lets her voice drift away as he gives an annoyed scoff and looks away.

“I don't mean it that way. I don't mean death. I mean here as in Australia. As in this apartment. This room.”

This is definitely the old Tyler. The one that was easily aggravated if she said something he viewed as stupid. Or if she dared challenged his power and control over situations. 

She lets it go. She feels the stress and the nerves and the fear herself. The old Tyler always struggled to express those kind of emotions. He was stoic and solid. He hid his true thoughts and his true feelings. Locking them deep down inside and throwing away the key. The new Tyler had worked hard to give over that. Struggling to learn how not to close himself off and push her away.

Their return to Dhaka is less than twelve hours away. A place that holds a lot of memories. Some good. Most bad. 

Most horribly, horribly bad.

“There's no way we can come back here,” he continues, and as if doing battle with his former self, he closes his eyes and then opens them again. His arm relaxing around her, knuckles brushing against her shoulder.

“This will never be finished,” he says. “Well and truly finished. For every one Asif we kill, ten more will pop up. And each one will learn about what happened. What we did. How Asif himself failed. They won't let that shame go. They'll avenge him. Six months from now, six years from now. It doesn't matter. There will always be someone that wants revenge.”

She remains silent. Fingers skimming along his chest and over his collarbone. Nails scrapping along the underside of his chin, palm coming to rest his cheek. And he turns his face into it, beard scraping against her skin, lips finding her palm. 

“If they know our names and know where we are, we can't stay here,” he reasons. “It would never be safe. We'd always be looking over our shoulders. We'd always be jumping the second we hear something moving in the shadows. And I don't want that for you. Or our daughter.”

She finally speaks “What about for you?”

“That doesn't matter. It's my job to protect you. It's my responsibility to make sure you're safe. That she's safe. And I know neither of you ever will be if we stay here. What's happen if I'm not here? I can't be here twenty four seven. And that's when they'd make their move. When they know I'm not here. And I can't take that chance.”

She rubs the back of her hand along his jaw. The top knuckle of her index finger skimming over the scar underneath his right eye. 

“You deserve better than that,” he says, as he struggles to contain the emotion that chokes at him. “So does the baby. You deserve better than this life. Better than me.”

She pushes his face towards her and silences him with a kiss. “Stop that,” she gently orders. “You're perfect for us. We're safe with you. I never doubt that. I never will.”

He manages a smile and lifts his head kisses her softly. One on the lips, then the tip of her nose, followed by her forehead.

“Where will we go?” she asks, when he settles his head back onto the cushion. Her fingers now move to the chain around his neck, the pad of her index digit running along it. 

“Colorado.”

“You actually want to throw yourself into that? You really want to subject yourself to my family?”

“I would be nice to have a family. Outside of the three of us.”

“We have Nik. And the rest of the team.”

“That's a fucked of vision you have of a family.”

“Like I've said. You've never meant my brothers. You might meet them an wonder what the fuck you were ever thinking. What kind of fresh hell you ever got yourself into.”

“They can't be that bad. And you need to go home. Your mom misses you. And I know you miss her. And your step dad.”

“I don't miss them enough to force you to be somewhere you don't want to be.”

“I'd follow you to the ends of the earth. You know that. It's what you practically did for me.”

“This isn't a competition, Tyler. You don't have to do something because you feel you have something to make up for. I didn't come here and stay here because you forced me to. I came here because you needed me. And I stayed because I love you.”

He smirks “Not to mention I knocked you up.”

“A surprising little turn of events, but yes. That too.”

“A good surprise,” the smile is softer now. “A very good surprise.”

“We could always go to New York City,” she muses, sighing wistfully at her memories of the Big Apple.

“Isn't that where Crocodile Dundee ended up? Isn't one Aussie enough?”

“Hmmm...yeah...you might be too much for even them to handle,” she teases. “There's always Boston. Boston was nice. Chicago wasn't bad. Or Texas. I enjoyed Houston, actually.”

“We could also move to Canada,” he suggests.

“Won't work. You hate hockey.”

“It's not that I hate it. I think it's stupid.”

“Bite your goddamn tongue, Tyler Rake. How dare you.”

“I also hate that shit that you tried to feed me once. With the french fries and the gravy and the pretend cheese.”

“That wasn't pretend cheese. It was cheese curds. Very much real cheese. And poutine is a delicacy, I will have you know. Just because you can be an uncultured swine...”

He chuckles, then wrapping an arm around her waist, hoists her up on top of him. His hands on her thighs as she straddles his hips. 

“There's always the west coast,” she says, as runs his hands along over her knees and up her legs. “I didn't mind Seattle. They have great coffee. California would probably be the best fit for you. There's lots of beautiful beaches. You do love to surf.”

“Colorado,” he insists, his hands settling on her hips.

“There's mountains. And snow. You need beaches. The ocean. Surfing.”

“I don't need those things. I can live without those.”

“San Francisco is supposed to be nice. I've never been there but I hear it's decent. And they apparently have a good football team.”

“Let's not start that argument again, love. That is not fucking football. And I already said it. Colorado.”

“Los Angeles.”

He shakes his head. “Colorado.”

“San Diego.”

“Nope. Colorado,” he slowly stresses the word. 

She sighs. “Why do you always have to be such a stubborn little shit?”

“Because I can. Because you let me get away with it. Because you love me enough not to strangle for me it.”

“Not yet anyway,” she leans down to kiss him, her hair falling over both of them, brushing against his chest when she sits back up. “I know you think this is what I want. Going back there. But you don't have to do this.”

“I don't think it's what you want. I know it's what you need.”

“Since when did you become an expert on what I need?”

“You seemed to think I was an expert at knowing what you needed half an hour ago,” he teases, and then winces and laughs when she grabs the part of his beard under his chin and yanks. “Actually, I think I proved I'm an expert. At least at those things.”

“You're like a fourteen year old boy. Mind always in the gutter.”

“You blame me? You're sitting on me. Naked.”

“You put me here. And then you complain? That's fucking rude.”

Curling an arm around her, he unceremoniously drops her onto her back. “That better?” he asks, a hand on the floor beside her head as he bends down to kiss her.

“Much better,” she says against his lips, and then sighs into the kiss.

He pulls back to look at her. Giving her a wink. “Colorado.”

“You are an insufferable bastard, Tyler Rake.”

“I am,” he agrees. “But you love me.”

She smiles up at him. “Only on days that end in Y.”

“That's good enough,” he declares, and kisses her once more. Longer this time. More passionate. Pulling away with a wide grin. “Colorado.”

“You can be a real annoying little bastard,” she teases, as she pushes his hair out of his eye. “You always have to have the last word?”

“Always,” he says, giving her a wink and then kissing his way down her entire body.

No more words are needed.


	13. Chapter 13

It's six thirty in the morning when they make the short walk to Nik's hotel. Three hours remain before the catch their flight to Dhaka yet Tyler is already in 'go mode'. His senses are keen and work on overdrive; brain always operating two steps ahead. Long ago mastering the ability to carry on conversations or what would be deemed normal business and behaviour, yet still being able to spot a potential threat. Eyes always scanning the street, looking for even the smallest thing that seemed suspicious. A vehicle that slowly circled the streets or parked the wrong way with an idling engine, carrying only a driver and no passengers. Someone acting shady as they lingered on a front stoop or at a corner. Their eyes shifting nervously, hands shoved in their pockets as they rocked back and forth on their heels. Those that would walk slowly past you with a hoodie pulled over their heads and sunglasses on their eyes, not realizing that you'd already made them and their sideways glances had hadn't been as conspicuous as they thought. His hearing became more acute as well. If out in a public place he was able to pick up on conversations from several tables away. Pretending to be immersed in a coffee and something on his phone while mentally storing everything he was hearing into memory. His reflexes were the most impressive. Able to react to a threat at the drop of a dime. If not armed, able to rely on his instincts and previous experiences when searching for -and using- the objects available to him. 

Injure. Maim. Kill.

Those were the only three options.

And usually only the last one mattered.

For the first time in the year he's carrying. A semi automatic pistol on his right hip, concealed by both the t-shirt and the Emery zip up hoodie he sports. He wears a ball cap; pulled low over his eyes. Not enough to look suspicious, but just enough so others can't see the way he surveys everyone and everything around him. People out walking their dogs others climbing into their cars to head to work, some sitting on their stoops with mugs of coffee, younger fellas delivering the morning paper. Traffic is light; nothing more than the usual morning commute and delivery trucks making sure their goods arrive at stores before the doors open. 

Esme less than half a step in front of him, pushing the baby in the stroller. She's kept her head down the whole way. Her instincts haven't remained as sharp. She'd become a mother after all, and that was an instinct that was far more powerful than any other in the world. The ability to sense...before even a peep was made...what her child needed or wanted. The overwhelming desire and need to protect all costs. She's on edge; every so often her head snapping towards a sudden noise or movement, almost jumping clear out of her skin when a car door is slammed a little too hard. In one block he's had to stop three times to calm her down. Stepping alongside of the stroller and grabbing a hold of the handle to make her stop. Leaning down as if he was checking on the baby inside but telling his wife to calm down. That everything was okay. That he was right there and nothing was going to happen to them. 

And those reassurances would work. Until they didn't.

They're a block away, waiting at a crosswalk when he crosses the small gap between them and lays a hand on the small of her back and tells her to stop.

“Hold up...” he says, and bends down as if to as to tie one of his boots. “Your twelve. Coming across the street. Young guy in the red hoodie. With the back pack. This is the second time he's passed us. He's looked at us both times. Last time he crossed to the other side and stopped in one of the store fronts. Don't make eye contact with him.”

She hooks an arm around the handle of the stroller and removes her cell phone from her shorts pocket, as if she's just casually checking the time or a text message that may have come through.

The light changes and the walk signal begins to flash, and as the young man in question because his way towards them, Tyler casually reaches under his hoodie and t-shirt, fingers brushing against the handle of the pistol. 

He's ready. Waiting. 

Esme glances up from her phone. The suspicious stranger in question making eye contact with her. And when he gives a warm smile in greeting and a “good morning. Beauty of a day, ain't it?” and she responds in the like, offering up brief commentary on the sun yet how there's a chill in the air.

Tyler stands. The young man's shoulder coming in contact with his. Nothing threatening, Something that could be see as an errant bump on the street.

“Sorry, mate,” the kid says. “Nice time for a walk with the family, yeah?”

His hand slides out from under his clothes. He shoves both into the pockets of his hoodie and offers a pleasant smile. “Baby wouldn't fall back asleep. We thought we'd try some fresh air.”

“I hear ya, mate. These baby years are tricky. I have four at home myself.”

It's a lie. Tyler knows it is. This kid looks barely old enough to have graduated out of high school. So unless his girlfriend has had quadruplets or he started when he was twelve, there's no way he has that many rugrats at home. 

He plays along. “We just have the one. It's harder than it looks. She likes to keep us on our toes.”

“You think this is a struggle, wait until the terrible twos. They're a right trip.”

“We should go,” Esme speaks up. She's right at his side now; not even an inch between them. She's nervous; he can hear it in her voice, see it written all over her face. A year ago she wouldn't have batted an eyelash at a threat like this. But a lot has changed in those eleven and a half months. “Grandma and grandpa are early risers,” the lie rolls easily off her tongue. “They're waiting for us.”

“Well you both take care now,” the stranger says. “Enjoy the little one. These days are gone before you know it. Stay safe.”

Tyler smiles, gives a nod in farewell and watches as the younger man heads off down the street. Hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Head moving left to right as if scanning the street. Yet never looking back at them.

“That was fucked,” Esme whispers. “There's no way he was telling the truth. That is not someone old enough to have four kids.”

“Just keep going,” he says, and drapes an arm across her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side. “Don't cross the street. We're going to turn here, go down to the next block and then cross back over and head to the hotel that way.”

She nods. Then shivers against him. A mixture of the cool morning air and her shoddy nerves. 

Tyler unzips his hoodie and slips out of it, making sure the t-shirt still covers the weapon on his hip as he helps his wife slip into his sweater. It's huge on her. The hem falling below her knees.

“It's okay,” he assures her, as he tends to the zipper, sliding it up to the top. Laying his hand on the side of her face, he drops a kiss on the top of her head and bends down, his hand on the back of her neck and his lips to her ear. “Everything's fine. Just calm down. Nothing's going to happen. You're fine.”

She nods, and turns her face into his, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he pulls away.

“It's okay,” he promises, and then lays his hand on the small of her back once more. This time completely closing the gap between them as they continue on their way.

***

Nik has somehow convinced hotel management to open the restaurant an hour early, and have staff clock in to provide breakfast for the small group. There isn't a problem that woman can't talk herself out of. No situation she can't fix. A skeptical person she can't convince with a shy smile and a bat of those eyelashes. She has many faces to put on. All successful at getting exactly what she wants.

“You're late,” she says, in that slightly disappointed tone she so often likes to use. She's used it on him many times in the past. Mostly when he'd the gall to show up to team briefings either still drunk or nursing a wicked hangover.

“We ran into a small problem,” he responds, and launches into a detailed tale about their awkward and unnerving encounter on the street. 

She listens quietly, a hand on her hip, head cocked to the side.

“Might have been nothing,” Tyler shrugs. “But it felt like something.”

Nik knew that his instincts were very rarely wrong. And she trusts them. She trusts him. Even after a year. Even after everything that he'd gone through in Dhaka and the long months afterwards. And she tells the team's resident tech expert to get on it; she wants footage from every traffic camera, security camera, and home security system within a three blocks radius -in every direction- from where the altercation had taken place. She wants a face. A name. And failure to find them is not an option.

“Are you carrying?” she asks, and he nods. “You?” she address Esme.

“Those days are behind me,” the other woman replies. “I'm not that person anymore.”

Nik merely nods, then gestures towards an area in the back corner of the restaurants. Two tables pushed together; next to the windows, with the sunshine streaming in and a view of the immaculately landscaped courtyard. She quickly makes introductions; Jason, three new guys with extensive weapons and hand to hand combat training, and a young woman in charge of the technology. The last is a familiar face; Yaz, who'd been at the helm of the helicopter that had transported Ovi to safety. 

He and Tyler embrace warmly. Two old friends reuniting after a difficult year. They'd spoken on the phone and had exchanged emails and texts, but this is the first time since they'd seen come face to face since that fateful day. Tyler doesn't remember any of the visits to the hospital or cards sent or even the things that Yaz had done behind the scenes to make sure that Esme was taken care of. And Yaz prefers it that way. He's low key. Never liking praise, compliments, or thanks. Preferring to be that quiet friend that lingers in the distance yet you always know you can count on.

“Good thing nothing ever happened to this face, huh?” Yaz laughs and lightly taps Tyler on the cheek. “It's already hideous. How worse could it possibly get?!”

“Your mother used to love my face,” Tyler retorts, and Yaz gives an overly dramatic gasp and clasps a hand over his head. Then dissolves into laughter and embraces him once more. His demeanour becoming more solemn.

“We missed you, brother,” he says. “Glad to have you back. We were worried about you. Scared the shit out of the lot of us.”

“Scared the shit out myself,” Tyler responds, as Yaz claps him on the shoulder and moves on to greet Esme and Amelia. Launching into that high pitched tone he develops whenever the talk turns to anything baby related or he gets a glimpse of her on face time or he's shown a new picture.

“Let's get this show on the road,” Nik pipes up, and like obedient children, everyone begins to gather around the tables. She has that way about her; assertive, aggressive, yet in a rather low key and never overbearing way. Able to go from glamorous and alluring to kicking someone's ass in a matter of seconds. Men loved her. Women wanted to be her. Yet she remained humble, possessing an enormous amount of compassion and understanding, even for those who had wronged her or slighted her in the past.

Tyler is one of those people. He had been into her...had loved spending time with her...but he'd never been in love with her. They were way better friends than lovers, as their numerous dalliances and his drunken and pill fuelled escapades had proven time and time again. Still, she remained loyal. Believing in him. Trusting him. 

Even when he'd given her countless reasons not to.

****

“We've reached out to Ovi Mahajan Senior about everything that has been going,” Nik says, as she sips a cup of black coffee.

The hotel had put out their best breakfast spread for the group; various flavours of coffee and teas, everything from fresh fruit and danish to scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes and all the fixings. Workers lingering long enough to make sure that everyone was settled and digging in. Then quietly slinking away and leaving them to their business.

“You don't suppose this is something he's caused do you?” one of the rookies...a strapping kid over six foot three with carrot red hair and an impossibly smooth baby face...inquires.

“The warden says that his track record has been perfectly clean for the last year and that he's neither caused or been involved in any issues,” Nik replies. “We have no reason to believe that he has done anything to provoke this.”

“This isn't about him,” Tyler speaks up, running his palm along the porcelain of his coffee mug. “This has nothing to with him at all. This has to do with what happened last year. The fact that we successfully extracted his kid.”

“Asif was shamed,” Yaz speaks up, as he paces the floor with the baby in his arms. Playing the role of the doting and adoring uncle. Every so often glancing down to make silly faces at her or talk in that baby voice he's perfected. “It was a huge blow that we rescued Ovi. He tried everything in his power to make sure we weren't successful. And in the end he was the one that failed. Asif has a loyal following in Dhaka. Dead or alive.”

“We believe that this is retribution,” Nik says. “But it goes past having just rescued Ovi.”

“Tyler embarrassed Asif” Yaz again. “Single handily.”

“And not just that,” Nik adds. “He somehow managed to survive to tell about.”

A silence falls among the room as the cold hard truth finally breaks the surface. It was what they had been accepting, but it was still a harsh reality to accept. A bitter pill to swallow.

Beside him, Esme shifts uncomfortably in her seat. One hand on her stomach, the other clasping a fork she'd been using to push the food around her plate for the past thirty minutes. It's been a common occurrence within the past week. Craving and wanting food and then immediately repulsed when it gets in front of her. Stress. Anxiety. Perhaps her own slice of undiagnosed PTSD. With the year anniversary quickly approach, habits she's grown out of have starting making an appearance. Stomach aches, migraines, insomnia. And terrible night terrors when she did manage to nod off.

Tyler lays a hand on the back of her neck, fingers tightly yet comfortably kneading the tight, tense muscles. She'd already been on edge when she'd gotten up that morning. Nauseous as soon she opened her eyes, making a mad dash to the bathroom to throw up. And he'd sat there on the floor next to her, holding her hair away from her face and trying his best to reassure her that everything was going be fine. This wasn't going to be a repeat of a year ago. He wouldn't let it get that far out of control.

“This is personal,” Nik continues. “But we don't think it's necessarily directed at Ovi. We don't think he's the target. We received information that those running Asif's business and controlling the remaining assets know that Tyler is alive. They know his face, they know his name, the know where he lives. This is an attempt to lure him back to Dhaka. We believe in an attempt to finish the job.”

There's a clatter as Esme drops her fork onto her plate. A grimace on her face as she pushes the the dish away. Three quarters of the meal still remaining.

“What's going on?” Tyler whispers, taking the opportunity to comfort her as Nik pushes her chair away from the table and retrieves a pitcher of water. “Are you okay?”

“I just feel sick. I'm tired. I have a killer headache. I feel like I could puke.”

“You didn't get much sleep last night,” he reasons. And he was partly to blame. His insatiable sex drive and his need to with her...inside of her...overpowering all rational thought. 

“It's just stress,” she says, and manages a small, reassuring smile. “And that guy on the street just freaked the shit of me. Something wasn't right with him. I felt it. And I know you felt it too.”

Nik returns, filling Esme's glass with water and giving a soft, understanding smile. “It's a lot to hear,” she says, and sinks back into her chair. “Even if it is what you've been expecting. This is a hard time. For all of us. We lost a lot of people a year ago. And came very close to losing others. We may have extracted Ovi successfully in the end, but we failed in a lot of ways as well. We believe that whoever is behind the recent happens in Dhaka is doing this to get Tyler back there. And it's what very reliable resources have been reporting. This is all about revenge. Restoring honour. There's already been talk on the street. Tensions are high. Ovi has just been collateral damage. They've been using him as a pawn.”

“So why go back?” Jason pipes up. “Why not just bring the kid here?”

“And lead them right to Tyler? And his family?” Yaz shakes his head. “Use your bloody head man. If we go there, we keep the trouble there. It isn't that hard to understand.”

“We need to keep their shit in their pond,” Tyler adds. 

Nik nods in agreement. “Now Mahajan has loyal people of his own. That we can rely on when and if trouble arises. He has assured us of that and I have no reason to question their ability nor their willingness to help. He's made some powerful allies in prison. Their reaches are long. We have those resources at our disposal and we will use them ONLY if we need to. My hope is that we keep this contained to just the team.”

“We should be fine,” Tyler says, as he leans forward to grab a carafe of coffee and fills his cup. “There shouldn't be a reason for it to get that far.”

“Yaz, Monique and I will be staying here in Australia. Keeping our eyes and our ears open to any possibly trouble heading this way. The rest of you will be heading to India first. Mahajan has agreed to let you stay at his house. To keep an eye on his son.”

Tyler shakes his head. “Bad idea.”

She blinks. “Why's that?”

“We're trying to keep the trouble away from the kid, yeah? We're not trying to drop it on his doorstep. Which is exactly what will happen word gets out that I'm there. It's better if I stay somewhere else. Alone.”

“Yeah...no...” Esme speaks up. “...that is not how this is going to happen. That is not we talked about. That is not we agreed to. At all.”

“I changed my mind. I have that prerogative.”

“Maybe when you had a death wish,” she argues. “Maybe when you only had yourself to worry about. But in case you've forgotten, there's two other people you also need to worry about. What good is us being in India and you being in Dhaka going to do? What made you think that was even a reasonable decision to make?”

“It keeps them away from Ovi. Which in turn keeps them away from you.”

“It puts an even bigger target on us. They won't come right for you if they know you're alone. They want revenge. And what's the best way to get it? To get you where it hurts the most. To come after the people you love.”

“She's right,” Nik says. “It's foolish, Tyler. And it's dangerous. You're playing with fire.”

“You already have men camped out there, right? Now you're adding two more. That's more than enough to keep things locked up tight and under control. Once they realize that, they'll move right to me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I can't believe we are actually talking about this!” Esme exclaims. “You're not the only one that's in this huge shit pile. This isn't what we talked about. This is not what we decided. And you told me that if the three of us were going together, we were sticking together. That doesn't mean us in one place and you in the other. This is bullshit Tyler, and you know it.”

“We'll talk about this later, okay? We'll..”

“We'll fucking talk about this now. You came up with this idiotic bullshit on your own and I'm calling you on it and I don't give a shit who is here to hear it. This is not how things are going to go. You're not going back on your word. You don't do that. You don't go back on your word. You don't go back on your promises. So don't start now.”

“Esme is right,” Nik maintains. “It is better if the three of you are together. They're safer if you're with them, Tyler.”

“They're not. You know and I know it. I stay with them, the bigger the threat becomes.”

“Are you hearing what you're saying?” his wife remains incredulous. “Are you honestly listening to yourself? Are you listening to the words that are coming out of your mouth? It makes no sense, Tyler. They're going to hit you where it will hurt the most. And then they'll finish you off. When they know you're vulnerable.”

“I kind of agree with Tyler here,” Yaz jumps in. “It does makes sense.”

“Like hell it does,” Nik snaps. “It makes no damn sense at all.”

“If he's alone, they'll go right for him,” Yaz reasons. “They want Tyler, right? That's who they're after? Once they know where he is, Ovi stops being the target and they move away from him.”

“Exactly,” Tyler says.

“You're so full of fucking shit, Yaz,” Esme retorts. “You damn well know that that isn't how these things work. For Christ sake. I can't believe I'm surrounded by such horseshit!”

“Just calm down,” Tyler says, a little more forceful than he intended to be, and her eyes narrow and the rookies grow uncomfortable in their seats.

“Don't you dare tell me to calm down,” her voice is low. “Don't you dare sit there and tell me to calm down when you went behind my back and completely went against everything we've talked about. I love you. But I could fucking kill you right now.”

“Just relax. We'll talk about this later. Once you calm down and actually listen to me...”

“I have been listening to you. Every word. And I'm telling you that it's all the stupidest fucking bullshit I've ever heard come out of your mouth. And I've heard you say some pretty stupid fucking bullshit.”

“Esme and the baby are safer if you're with them,” Nik contends. “And that's the way it's going to be. You're going to India. All three of you.”

Tyler sighs “This is the wrong decision and you know it, Nik. You just signed their death certificates. You might as well just pull the trigger yourself.”

“I can't hear any more of this,” Esme shoves her chair away from the table with such force that it nearly topples over when stands. “I can't. I need some air. I need to get away from this.”

Frowning, Tyler snatches her by the wrist.

“No!” she snarls, and yanks her hand away. “Don't. I need to go. You need to let me go.”

“I'll go with you,” Jason offers, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands up. “Keep an eye on you.”

“Whatever,” she says, and once more wriggles out of a tight grasp her husband as wrapped around her. “What does it even matter, right? I don't get a say in any of this. It's all up to you, right Tyler? Nothing matters except what you want. Same shit, different day.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Nik jumps to her friend's defence.

“You've said enough,” she glares at him. “And I'm totally disregarding the entire thing. You leave for India in two hours. All three of you. Together. And you stay together. This ends here. And I swear to God, Tyler, if I get a frantic call in the middle of the night saying that you've taken off and left them there, I will come and find you and you'll answer to me. And that is battle you will not win.” She downs the rest of her coffee and pushing her chair away from the table, smooths down the back of her simple black pencil skirt. “Wheels up in in two hours. We're done here. Do you understand me?” she directs that questions at Tyler. “No games. No sneaky shit, Tyler. Because if you go behind her back and something happens to her or that baby, I will end you myself.”


	14. Chapter 14

Nik had failed to get them a private flight. Unable to secure a chopper or jet on such a short notice. Proving that there are indeed things not even her svelte touch and magic reach can procure. 

She is stressed; eyes constantly scanning the crowd, lips set in a terse line, her body constantly swaying or rocking back and forth on her heels. The airport is crowded; larger than usual crowds for that time of the year. And it has put her on edge. Everyone looks suspicious. Any unfamiliar or louder than normal sound causing her to jump. Unusual for her, Tyler thinks. She isn't usually that skittish. She'd garnered quite the reputation of being unflappable. Stone cold even. Yet he knew there was more to her than that. Layers she never let anyone see. Except for a select few.

“I can't believe I'm going to say this to you of all people, but you need to calm the fuck down,” he says, as he pays for the coffees they'd grabbed at the nearest concession stand. “You're even making me nervous.”

“This is a bad idea,” she responds, running the palms down the her thighs. Those dark eyes usually wild and shifty. “It shouldn't have come to this.”

The cashier hands him his change and his receipt with a cute smile. And he smirks when he notices that's scrawled her name and phone number on the strip of paper. He balls up it up, tosses it into the nearest trash, and then picks up the coffees, holding one out to Nik. 

“I'm married,” he informs the obviously embarrassed cashier. “I'm flattered. I am. But no. Just no.”

“Tyler Rake...friend of the ladies...” Nik snidely remarks, as they fall in step alongside of each other. “You haven't lost your touch.”

“I don't know about it being a touch. Or if girls like that have some fucked up daddy issues.”

“You're not that old.”

He snorts.”I feel like I'm eighty.”

“Knee?”

“Knee. Back. Shoulder. What doesn't hurt?”

“You still medicating?” she's watching him out of the corner of her eye, coffee cup pressed against her lips. 

“Not the way I was before, if that's what you're asking.” 

When she'd showed up at his place in the outback with the Dhaka job a year ago, he'd fallen into dangerous habits: ignoring doctors' orders and popping pills like candy, always chasing them down with booze. It had become his way of escaping. A way to numb both the physical and mental anguish. He hasn't touched a bottle since he was released from the hospital. His wife deserved a husband that wasn't an addict. Or a husband that was dangerously close to being one.

“I just want to make sure you have your head on straight. After what I heard this morning...”

“Water under the bridge. Nik. I thought I was making the decision that was best for my family. It made sense to me at the time. I didn't take everything into consideration. I should have thought about what it would to do to her. Being separated like that.”

“She needs you, Tyler. I don't think you realize just how much. You can downplay it all you want, but she needs you. Maybe before all of this, she would have been able to just walk away and get on with her life. And maybe she should have before things went as far as they did. Maybe you both should have.”

“With all due respect. Nik, that's none of your business. What went on between Esme and I...behind closed doors...had nothing do with you.”

“It became my business when you crossed the line, Tyler. You were there to protect her. Not fall into bed with her. It was a job. And that's all it should have been. Both of you should have known better.”

“Maybe we should have. Maybe we should have stopped when we still had the chance. But we didn't. That's a year ago now. You're always on Esme about letting her shit from the past go. Maybe there's some shit you need to get rid of too.”

“If you're talking about you and I...”

“There was no you and I, Nik. I told you at the start there never would be. We've had this conversation many times. And I'm sorry if you've got issues with Esme and I being together. Or us being together hurts you in some way. But I never made any promises to you. I was straight with you right off the hop. And you were okay with that. Or at least you said you were.”

“You've made yourself clear time and time again, Tyler. But you seem to forget who was there for you before all of this. Who had to pick up the pieces every time you fell apart.”

“We're friends. That's what friends do.”

“The things we were doing went far beyond what normal friends do for each other,” she points out, and he sighs. “And I don't have a problem with you and Esme being together. I have a problem with how it happened. With how you both crossed a line that never should have been crossed. You both should have known better.”

“Maybe. And I know you want to hear me say that I regret it. Handling the things the way I did. Not walking away when I could have. But I don't. I don't regret it. I don't regret falling in love with her. I regret what I put her through. But not for loving her like I do.”

“You're forgetting that this wasn't something that just had ramifications for the two of you. I wouldn't worry about it so much if it was just the two of you. But you brought a baby into this, Tyler. A child. Who didn't ask to be dragged into any of this. This isn't just you and Esme you have to worry about. I don't even worry about the two of you. You can handle yourselves. But a baby, Tyler. An innocent. You don't want to admit it, but you're the one that put that target on her back. You may not have meant to do it. But you did. It was bad enough that you crossed that line. But it was damn foolish to not be more careful when you did.”

It's a hard, painful truth. But not one he hasn't come to on his own. Especially within the past couple of days; those haunting thoughts in the middle of the night that he'd been the one ultimately responsible for the threat upon his family. The guilt that came with knowing that if something did happen, it was entirely his fault.

“I'm not saying it's not a blessing that she's here,” Nik continues. “Because it is. And I'm not saying you're a terrible father. Because you're not. I know how much you love her. How you'd lay down your life with her. I'm saying that this all could have been avoided....the threat against her...if you'd just at least been more careful. If anything happens to her, you'll never forgive yourself, Tyler. You'll never get over it. You won't be able to forget. You'll never be able to rest. And I won't be able to let you.”

****

When the nausea comes, it hits hard and fast. Bringing with it cold sweats and dizziness and leaving behind a wicked headache. A dull, throbbing ache that settles behind her right eye and the base of her neck. Even now, as she stands at a sink in the hotel bathroom, she can feel it; the room spinning around her, the bile still sitting in her throat, the sweat that beads on her forehead and gathers at at her temples. She closes her eyes; tightly gripping the edge of the sink, the porcelain cold and smooth against her palms. 

It's stress, she tells herself. Just stress. You're nervous, Scared. You're going back to the last place on earth you want to be. Look what happened there the last time. 

She knows it's more than that. Nothing life threatening, but something that had life altering ramifications. Something totally unplanned and unexpected. Terrifying, even. Not a place she'd wanted to find herself at this point in time. With all the uncertainty and the worry and the very real threat that she could lose everything.

She swallows back the sting of bile, clears her throat, looks at herself in the mirror. The dark circles under her tired eyes, the lack of make up, the messy hair. She no longer recognizes herself. She'd lost herself a year ago. The second she'd stepped out of that helicopter in the Australian outback. She'd been strong, confident, in complete control of her own life and at peace with her own decisions. At war with her past but satisfied with her present. Looking forward to her future. It all begun to change the moment she'd stepped into the run down shack. She hadn't known it at the time; the enormous effect that one man would have on her life. Or the nightmare that waited for them on those streets in Dhaka. 

But she'd known there was something different. About him, About herself. Something that she couldn't resist, even though everything had told her she should. That little pilot light that flashes in the corner of your eye, warning you about incoming danger. She'd ignored it. In that little shack and in that disgusting Dhaka hotel room. Losing a little more of herself with each passing minute.

It wasn't regret. She didn't regret what had happened. That she had given herself to him; mind, body, soul. She had discovered the love of her life within the confines of those four dirty walls. She didn't regret him. Choosing him. Or the live that she had to give up in order to be with him. Or that she'd...despite all the mistakes of her first failed marriage..decided to become his wife. And she most certainly didn't regret their daughter. The greatest gift she'd ever be given. 

Love is a fickle beast. Being satisfied with the life you have...the love you have...but still missing the past.

No. Not regret. Sadness. A sense of longing for simpler times. For a better ending than what happened on that bridge. Thoughts of what it would have been like to be in that little shack. With him. 

And that damn chicken.

***

She turns on the cold water and cups some in her hands; sipping at the cool liquid before splashing it into her face. Eyes closed and head forehead as she allows the droplets to plop into the sink. She blindly reaches for the power towel holder; ripping off three sheets and then drying her face.

She jumps when she sees the figure behind her. The bathroom had been empty when she'd wandered in. And she hadn't heard the door open or anyone walk in the entire time she'd been in there. But there she was. A young woman in a cotton sundress; her skin gloriously tan and her long blond hair pulled into a messy up do. Neither woman moves. Their eyes locked one another through the mirror.

“You scared me,” Esme says at last, unable to ignore that uneasiness that settles in. Not the nerves of travelling, or of what she knows is happening within her own body, or the worries of the upcoming job. But the unsettled feeling that sinks in when your gut is telling you that there is something wrong. Something very wrong.

It's only when she speaks that the woman behind her finally moves. An apologetic smile on her lips as she steps to the sink beside her. Esme immediately takes two steps sideways, driven to put distance between them. 

“I didn't mean to startle you,” the blond says, never turning the water on but fixing her hair in the mirror, using her baby finger to smooth out the gloss gathered at the edge of her lips. She is young; twenty five at the oldest. Pretty in a conventional way. All blond hair and impeccable make up and well manicured nails. Someone that others would consider a non threat.

Esme had learned long ago that threats didn't come with a look. And it was usually the people you'd least expect. In the confines of her hoodie pocket her cell phone vibrates. Tyler. Asking where she was. If she was okay. Always protective. Sometimes to a fault. 

“Nervous traveller?” the young woman asks. 

“I don't like to fly,” Esme concedes, and moves towards the exit. 

“I saw you out there. With your baby.”

She stops, fingers curled around the door handle.

“How old is she?”

“Two months.”

“Still a wee one. She's adorable. Your first?”

“And only. So far.” Her cell vibrates once again. And she knows she should answer it. That she let him know what's happening. 

“Well she's beautiful. Congratulations. Enjoy these times. They end quick. And you never know what might happen.”

The nausea threatens again. She manages to ignore it. Needing to flee. To get to out into the open. To a safer place. And she yanks the door open and steps out into the busy airport; the sights and the sounds and even the smells a welcome relief from the suffocating uneasiness of the bathroom. 

And that's when she sees him. Watching her. A hundred meters away. Same ball cap. Same red sweater. Same backpack. Her fingers tighten around her cell phone, ready to make that one text that could make this all go away.

“Wondered where you'd gotten off to.”

The familiar voice makes her jump. Her insides lurch. And she places a hand over her uneasy stomach. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” she scolds, frowning at Jason as he sidles up beside her. 

“I thought something had happened to you in there. Thought maybe you'd fallen in.”

“I just needed to take a breather. Get my shit together. Do you see that guy. The one with the...” she glances over her right shoulder, where the young man from this morning had been standing. Watching her with cold, emotionless eyes. “What the hell...” she furtively scans the crowd. Searching the sea of faces. “...he was just there.”

“Who?”

“The guy from this morning. The one Tyler talked to on the street. He was just there. Watching me.”

“That would be a little too much of a coincidence, don't you think?”

“Too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence,” she reasons, frowning as she fails to spot the face. 

“Maybe it was just someone who looked like him,” Jason offers.

“No,” she insists, her voice rising. Frantic. Confused. “It was him. It had to be him. He had the same sweater. The same hat. The backpack. It had to be him.”

“Probably just someone that made you think of him. If it's been playing on your mind since this morning, you probably just thought you saw the same things.”

She feels like she is going crazy. She tries to piece everything together. From the strange encounter that morning on the street, to the woman in the bathroom, to the man she just saw.

“I'm sure it wasn't him,” Jason says. “It's been a long day. Your brain is playing tricks on you..”

The old Esme would have told him to go fuck himself. That she knew her instincts. That her gut was never wrong.

But that girl had ceased to exist a year ago.


	15. Chapter 15

Ovi is out the front door and sprinting for the car before Tyler even manages to get both feet on the ground. Stumbling backwards when the kid catches him off guard: both of those skinny arms wrapping around his upper torso and embracing him tightly. 

“Easy there, mate,” he gives a soft chuckle, both embarrassed and startled by the kid's outward show of affection. “Easy.”

He imagines that there's a huge sense of relief now that he's there to help; Ovi trusts him and knows that he'll stop at nothing to keep him safe. He had proven his worth in that department when he'd found a way to get the kid to safety despite knowing the job was well and truly fucked. But there's probably also the sheer joy of just being able to see him in person. His own two eyes able to see for themselves that Tyler was indeed healthy. That he's truly alive and well and right there under his fingertips. Not bloodied and battered back on that bridge telling him to run for the helicopter. How he'd watched with relief when Tyler rallied back and d towards them, only to be shot in the neck. And the last 'in person' memory the kid had of him was seeing him collapsed on the sidewalk, Esme holding him while he lying. Ovi had been rushed to safety before finding out that Tyler had somehow miraculously survived and was in the hospital, struggling to hold on. That he'd be transferred to a facility in Australia when...and if...he was ever stable enough.

Tyler is effectively the only true father figure that the kid has. The one that Ovi calls when he gets better than expected grades or a the highest marks in the class on a test. The one he talks to about girls and his struggles to actually get the balls to interact with them. Who he chats about sports with. Who he confides in when it comes to his hopes and his dreams and wishes for his future. He's terrified of becoming his father. Of being forced to take over the 'family business'. He isn't that kind of person: ruthless, sinister, evil. He is a good kid with a good heart and a bright future. And Tyler had taken it upon himself to make sure things stayed that way. In the past, Saju had attempted to fill that role but had failed miserably. Yes, he'd been protective and strong and had been willing to lay his life on the line for the kid, but he'd never been fatherly. He'd become nothing more than hired help. Never nurturing or encouraging. Never understanding that sometimes a kid just needed to be a kid.

Tyler returns the hug; one hand on the back of Ovi's head, holding it against his shoulder. He can feel the kid's body shuddering against him and the tears through his shirt. And he's taken back to that moment at Gaspar's. When Ovi had clung to him on the stairs, horrified by what he had done. Watching the life drain out of the man that he'd just shot to save Tyler's life and, essentially, his own. He'd been emotionally and physically spent from the day he'd been through. And all he'd wanted to do was go home.

“Christ, mate...” he holds Ovi at arm's length, tousling that unruly dark hair and gently slapping him on the cheek. “...look how bloody big you've gotten. Like you've shot up a whole foot.”

“All grown up,” Esme agrees, and the kid embraces her tightly, a smile on her face as she take his face in her hands. “...you're making me feel really, really old right now,” she says, as her own tears sparkle in her eyes. 

There's a genuine affection she feels for that kid. Perhaps her motherly instincts kicking in. But Tyler had even seen it back then, when she'd met up with them at that warehouse. The way she would get him talking about random things to take his mind off of their situation, how she'd smile at him and reach out and take his hand when he was struggling, how she'd reassure him that everything was going to be okay. Even if deep down, she wasn't sure if she believed it herself.

“I'm so so glad you guys are here. I'm so happy to see you,” he manages. That lower lip quivering before he breaks down again. And she takes him into her arms once more, cradling and comforting the way any mother would a child in pain. 

Tyler knows that the kid hasn't felt that in a long time: a mother's love, concern, and affection. She well and truly does care for that kid. And seeing the depth of that love and care even makes him emotional and he clears his throat noisily and reaches into the backseat of the car.

“Oh my goodness!” Ovi's entire demeanour immediately changes when he sees the baby carrier now in Tyler's hand . That boyish sparkle in his eyes returning as they widen, a smile spreading across across his face. “Look at her! Look how cute she is!” and he's now beside Tyler, bravely reaching for the baby. Gentle and curious hands exploring; touching tiny feet and, stroking impossibly small fingers, running a finger tip over a silky smooth cheek. “Look how tiny you are,” he breathes. “How can anyone be this tiny?” he wonders aloud, and then smiles at Tyler. “She's even cuter in person. She's so small! How does anything so small come from someone as big as you?!”

“Got her mom's genes I guess, mate.”

“She looks just like you though! It's kind of creepy actually. Not creepy in a bad way. But creepy in like, a wow kind of way. It's so weird. She's like your little twin. She's got your eyes and your nose and your mouth and even yours ear It's freaky.”

“You trying to say my kid's ugly, kid?” Tyler chides, and Ovi's eyes widen as he take his question seriously.

“No! No! She's cute! So very cute. Not that I'm saying you're cute or anything like that because that would be really weird.”

“I don't know whether to be relieved or flattered that you're not attracted to me.”

“He's just yanking your chain,” Esme assures Ovi “And he hears it everywhere we go. From everyone we meet. How she looks just like him. I'm the one that that had the all day sickness and got fat and gross, but by all means, have the child look exactly like the person who put in five minutes of minimal effort at the very beginning.”

“Five minutes,” Tyler scoffs. “And minimal effort? What the...”

“I'm just saying,” she teases, and stands on her tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Here...” she curls her fingers around the handle of the baby carrier. “...she's probably hungry and needs a change. You boys catch up.”

“We'll be in in a bit.” he says, pecking her cheek, softly and playfully tapping his palm against her ass as she goes, Jason and the other members of the team following close behind. Frowning, eyes narrowing, when that kid from Louisiana has the goddamn nerve to place a hand on the small of Esme's back as he escorts her inside.  
To the average eye, it would be nothing more than a gentlemanly gesture. To Tyler it's a threat.

“You two make me so happy,” Ovi gushes. Oblivious to the tension. “I'm glad that you stayed together. She kind of scared me, you know, when I first met her. When she came to the warehouse to help us. I didn't understand how someone that looks like her could be so brave. I wondered how she couldn't be scared to to come to our aid. With all that was happening and the people after us, she still showed up. She could have just left. And she didn't. That's real bad ass.”

“She's the real bad ass of the family, mate. And that's what she does. That's her thing. She sacrifices herself for the people she loves.”

“Well I'm glad she does. I'm glad she wasn't too scared to help us. I'm glad she showed up that day.”

“So am I. But don't let her fool you. She was scared. We all were.”

“Even you?”

Tyler nods. “Even me.”

“Well I'm just glad that that two of you are together. She probably keeps you in line and out of trouble.”

“Trust me kid, I'm more scared of her than she is of me. Want to really see her go off? Wait until I leave the toilet seat up or dirty socks on the floor. That's when she really loses it.”

Ovi laughs at that, then suddenly grows quiet again. His face sullen, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “I'm just really glad you're here.”

There tears come again. Scalding. Bitter. A lost and lonely little boy stuck in an almost grown man's body.

It's Tyler who makes the first move this time. Wrapping both arms around the boy. Pulling him close. Like a father.

“I'm here, mate,” he assures him. “I'm here.”

***

The Mahajan's army of hired help has gone out of their way to make everyone feel welcome. Each assigned their own bedroom within that sprawling mansion; fresh, rich lines on the beds, small gifts and notes of appreciation left on pillows., a seemingly endless buffet of food and drink. The maids hover over them throughout dinner. Filling plates despite protestations of someone being full, making sure that drinks were topped off, that anything they wanted was immediately supplied. It was surreal to Tyler. Living like that. He'd always been used to an unassuming and simple life. Spending those bachelor days between his first and second marriage in his rundown shack. Content with living off the land. Being alone. His dog and chicken his only sources of companionship. 

Bathroom chicken, Esme had called it. And still referred to it as such when the subject was brought up. And he can still see the both quizzical and amused look that had come over her face when she'd seen his rather unconventional roommate. The day that she'd been suddenly dropped into his life when Nik had brought her along to discuss the Dhaka job. She'd pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, a smirk tugging at her lips, and it was the first time she ever spoke or turned those dark eyes on him.

“There's a chicken in your bathroom.”

A few days later, she'd brought up it in a conversation and coined the nickname Bathroom Chicken. 

It stuck.

He sometimes misses that old life. That rundown but familiar little shack. The peace and quiet that came with being out in the middle of nowhere. But he wouldn't trade his new existence. The comfort and security that comes with having someone to love and love you back. With having someone other than himself to take care of. Being a husband and a father again hadn't been in his plans back then, but now they were very much the two most important roles in his life.

“I want to hold her,” Ovi says, addressing the older Indian woman that lingers in the corner, her body swaying side by side as she hums to the baby in her arms. Mahajan Senior had hired someone to help with the child care; promising that she was kind and caring and had decades of experience caring for youngsters. Esme had been skeptical at first when a strange woman with broken English immediately approached her and gestured for her to hand over the baby. It was hard to trust a stranger with your own well being, never mind with the care of your child. Especially your first. “It's my turn. I haven't got to hold her yet. I want to hold her. I'm Uncle Ovi, after all.”

Tyler grins at that. Uncle Ovi. The kid already considering himself a part of their little family.

The woman moves forward, speaking in Hindi as she instructs him on to properly hold an infant. He's awkward at first; nervous, surprised at how light she actually is, maybe even worried that he might hurt her. But then that little body snuggles into his chest and he smiles, settling back in his chair.

“I think she likes me,” he's over the moon about it. He's never been around babies before. He's an only child and doesn't have friends with younger siblings of kids of their own. And his face is as bright and glowing as a kid on Christmas morning that just discovered his biggest wish under the tree. “She's not scared of me. She's really light. And really soft. I like the way she smells.”

“She won't smell so good in about an hour,” Tyler says. “Trust me. You'll be surprised how rank something that looks like her can actually be.”  
“He's only upset because he has competition for the stinkiest ass in the ass,” Esme chides, and digs a playful elbow into her husband's side, and then places her hand on his stomach and rests her head against his shoulder.

The help begins clamouring around them. Never speaking as they clear away dishes and cutlery, spiriting them away to the kitchen with promises of coffee and dessert. For several minutes no one speaks, relaxing in the comfortable silence. Their bellies full and their bodies weary from the long day of travel. The only sounds in the room the ticking of a clock on the wall and the soft cooing noises that the baby makes, smiling up at Ovi, her fist tightly closed around one of his fingers.

“Have you heard anything new?” Jason speaks up, addressing the kid, and Tyler sees how Ovi's body immediately tenses and his eyes darken. And he's tempted to just reach across the table and slap the ever loving shit out of the other man. He sure as hell didn't know how to read situations well. How to adjust your approach based on someone's mental state and current level of calm.

Tyler speaks up “We've got lots of time to talk about that. We just got here. No need to rush into it.”

“We're not here on a social call,” the younger man retorts. “We're here on business. For a job. And...”

“We're here because Ovi asked to come here,” Tyler interjects, and he feels his wife's hand tighten on the front of his t-shirt, her body shifting uncomfortably beside him. That head no longer on his shoulder as she sits up straight in her chair. “This isn't a job that is only going to take a couple of days or even a couple of weeks. So relax, mate. We just got here.”

“Why don't you relax.”

The reply isn't a suggestion, it's an order. And his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow, and he would have gotten up right there and then and just beaten the shit out of the kid, but his wife has laid a hand on his knee and is squeezing as hard as she can.

“I want to hear about the girl,” Esme changes the flow of the conversation, bringing down the level of tension. “Tyler says there's a girl at school you like, Ovi.”

His eyes widen, and Tyler can almost see a blush creeping into his cheeks. 

“You told her that?” Ovi is mortified “I can't believe you told her that.”

“In his defence, I sort of dragged it out of him,” Esme says. “I remember you telling me about a girl. When we were in the warehouse and I was asking you about school and friends. You mentioned that there was a girl you liked. Is it the same one?”

He nods in confirmation.

“So what's the hold up? From what you told me, she seemed pretty interested back then. And if she's still hanging in there after all this time...”

“I don't know if she likes me,” he laments. “Sometimes I think she does and then sometimes I think she doesn't. I catch her staring at me a lot. Smiling. Sometimes she acts like she wants to come up to talk to me and then changes her mind.”

“That's how it all starts mate,” Tyler grins. “Run away while you still can. They're trouble. The whole lot of them.”

Esme frowns, then retaliates: grabbing a hold of that bit of extra fat that sits at the top of the hips and pinching as hard as she can.

“See what I mean?” he addresses Ovi. “It starts out good. They smile at you. They bat their eyelashes at you. Laugh at your jokes no matter how stupid they are. And they hook you. With how cute they are and how good they smell. And by the time you realize what a heap of shit you're in, you can't get away. You don't want to get away.”

“I have ways of killing you in your sleep,” Esme informs him. “I could do away with you and not one person in this room would squeal on me.”

Across the room, Jason makes a snide comment about how it might be the best thing to ever happen.

“Yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you mate,” Tyler smirks. “Something tells me you wouldn't mind being the one that actually gets to do it.”

“What's her name?” Esme is anxious to get the conversation back on track. “The girl.”

“Priya,” Ovi says, and his smile broadens. “And she's so pretty. Even prettier than her name. “

“So what are you waiting for?” she inquires. “It sounds like she's into you. And why wouldn't she be? You're handsome, smart, funny, talented. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

“She makes me nervous,” he confesses. “So very nervous.”

“That's when you know it's a good thing. When you feel that way. Do you get butterflies when you think about her? Or when she smiles at you?”

His eyes narrow, confused. “Butterflies?”

“Does your stomach do funny things. Flip flop around and stuff like that. Do you get that when she smiles at you or when you think about her?”

A long, slow grin. “Yeah...” he shyly admits. “...I do.”

“Those butterflies are the best,” Esme declares. “I still get them all the time.”

Tyler can't help but smile at that. Especially when she takes his hand and squeezes. 

“You should ask her out. She sounds like she's into you. What's the issue?”

“I'm too shy,” he moans. “I get too nervous around her. I'm afraid I'll say something stupid and embarrass myself.”

“We all do that, mate,” Tyler says. “All us guys when it comes to a beautiful woman. I still say stupid shit and make a fool out of myself.”

“He does,” Esme nods. “All the time. You only know one side of Tyler. You don't know the sides that I do. You don't know what a total cornball he can be. He even has a romantic side.”

“Easy now,” Tyler chuckles. “Let's keep some things need to know. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“He has a total soft side,” Esme continues. “He acts like he's hard ass all the time, but he's not. He could give you pointers. I bet he could get you brave enough to ask Priya out. Just don't let him teach you any of his pick up lines. They border on sexual harassment. You'd probably get punched in the throat for using them. But he can teach you to be more confident. He''s more a man of action. And you know what they say. About actions speaking louder than words.”

The talk gradually turns to sports. World events. Entertainment. As the minutes tick by, the room begins to empty. The security team excusing them for their hourly rounds. Each has a different area to patrol; spots to man through the night and into the morning. 

Tyler is tired; jet lag is sinking in, all the trouble spots in his battered body aching at the same time. Yet he can't shut his mind off. He can't quiet the whispers that tell him that there's a threat closer than a lot of them actually realize. And he is now only half listening to the conversation going on around him. Eyes riveted on the mug clasped in his hand, thumb repeatedly brushing against the porcelain. 

Esme yawns beside him, then gives his hand a squeeze and stands up. “I'm wiped. I'm going to have a really hot bath and go to bed. You boys keep talking. You have a lot of catching up to do.”

Her hands comes to rest on Tyler's shoulders, fingers kneading at the tight and aching muscles. Then he tips his head back to look at her and she drop a kiss on his lips. “I'll be up soon,” he tells her.

“Take your time,” she combs her fingers through his hair, presses her lips to his forehead, then moves to take the baby from Ovi.

“Do I really have to give her up?” he moans. “I don't want to give her up just yet.”

“There's lots of time to hold her.” she assures him, and takes Amelia from his arms. “We're not going anywhere. It's late. Little Miss needs her beauty sleep.”

Ovi bids her a goodnight. Tyler just smiles, watching her until she disappears from the room.

“You're lucky,” Ovi says. “You got a second chance at a life. You've got someone that loves you. You made a baby. I hope you realize how lucky you are.”

“Sometimes I don't, mate,” he admits. “There's lots of times where I need to be reminded.”

He realizes that has to change.

****

He'd fallen asleep in the arm chair in the living room. As they night grew longer and there seemed to be slowing down in the conversation, he and Ovi had moved to another room while the cleaning staff got to their tasks. Despite the worry and the stress surrounding him, Ovi was full of exuberance; confident that this nightmare would soon to be over now that the one person he truly trusted had come to his aid. So instead of focusing on the threats and the fear, the kid excitedly told tales of school; the teachers he liked or disliked, gossip about those who were considered the popular kids, hopes he had for upcoming tests and ideas for projects. Tyler had remained silent the entire time; letting the words just flow from the kid's mouth. Pleased that Ovi was already feeling more secure. Which no immediate fears of the future and the trouble that was brewing around him. And while he had no set in stone plans for his future, one thing was certain: he did not want to remain in India. He'd already been researching schools. United States, Canada, Australia, and he was fully planning on getting as far away from home as soon as possible.

Eventually he had nodded off, curled up in a fetal position on the couch. Tyler had gotten up long enough to turn the lights off, returning to that arm chair; planning on sticking around long enough just to make sure the kid wouldn't suddenly wake up and panic if he didn't find Tyler close by. Only he had falling asleep himself; jet lagged and weary, a sitting position helping to alleviate the pain in his back and shoulder.

Not his eyes snap open; woken the sound of Ovi muttering in his sleep and the soft footfalls in the hallway, leading towards them. His brain quickly orientating himself with his surroundings; the Mahajan's elaborate furniture, the feel of the wool carpet under his bare feet, the moonlight streaming through the wall to wall windows that look out into the expansive backward. He can see the solar lights that mark a perimeter around the in ground pool, and the two guards stationed in the rear ward doing their patrols. No sign of trouble. Just a quiet, unassuming night, a soft breeze floating on the air. And as the footsteps draw closer, he eyes his handgun on the side table next to the chair. Weighing the situation; there was no sign of trouble or panic outside. The guards were alive and well. The alarm settings were armed. The chances of it being an intruder were highly unlikely, and he doubted word of his arrival had even been spread about Dhaka yet.

“Tyler?” Esme's soft voice from the hallway.

“In here,” he says, and moments later she's padding into the room with the baby in her arms. “Everything okay?”

“She woke up for a feed and now she's decided she doesn't want to go back to sleep,” her voice is tired, and she releases a loud, long yawn that hides in her elbow. “You guys alright?”

“Yeah, the kid just talked my ear off and we both ended up falling asleep. Give her to me,” he holds his arms out and she gently places the baby into them. He settles his infant against him; her stomach against his torso and her head on his shoulder, one of his hands on her back. 

“I woke up and you hadn't come to bed yet,” Esme says. “I was worried that something might have happened. Or that you...”

“I already said I wouldn't take off,” he sternly reminds her, then gives her a smile and reaches for her hand, pulling her towards him.

She settles beside him; effectively fitting that five foot three between him and the arm of the chair, both legs slung over his thighs. Placing a hand on the back of her head, he gently draws her down into him, her face nestling into the spot between his neck and his shoulder. And she gives another loud yawn and rubs her cheek against him. 

“What time is it?” he asks, and she reaches onto the side table to check his phone. “Three fifteen.”

“Am?” he has no idea why he even asks. It's damn obvious. Just a brain trying to run on very little sleep, he supposes. Mixed in with the slight fogginess that comes with the withdrawal he experiences if he doesn't stick to a med schedule

She ignores the faux pas, and placing the phone back on the table, curls an around around his neck and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

For a while neither of them speak. Their eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the crickets chirping outside and the baby's soft breathing as she finally dozes off. 

“It's sad,” Esme suddenly says, and his eyes snap open again. The tip of her nose pressed against the side of his neck, breath warm and sweet against his skin.

“What is?”

“That people can have so much yet really have nothing at all.”

“How you mean?”

“Look at this place. Look how incredible it is. It's big and it's beautiful and comes with everything you could possibly want. A massive back yard, a pool, it's own theatre room and gym,, a sauna. From the outside looking in it's pretty amazing and it would be easy to be envious of whoever lives like this. Yet when you walk inside, you feel...nothing. It feels empty. As if no one lives here at all.”

He nods as he considers her words. “Well really, it's just the kid here. The staff is here, but they're not here, here.”

“I just find it so tragic. That people can have so much and have nothing all at the same time. Here's the kid who has been abandoned by his father and has strangers taking care of him. There's no one here that actually cares about him. There's no one he can talk to about school or get homework help from, no one he can go to with a broken heart. He's surrounded by people, yet he is completely alone. And that breaks my heart. It's just tragic.”

“It is,” he agrees, and running a hand over her hair, presses a kiss to her forehead.

“As nice as this place is, as beautiful as it is, I would still pick that little shack of yours over it any day of the week.”

“Yeah?” he grins. “Even the chicken?”

She grins against him.

“Even the chicken.”

****

“We can't leave him here, Tyler,” she says sometime later. Just as he was beginning to find sleep once again. “When this is all over. We just can't. This place is just going to drag him down. It's going to eat away from him and it's going to it's going to break him down and he's going to start looking for what he's not getting at home. And you know as well as I do that things never end well. When you feel abandoned and you'll settle for any kind of love and compassion you can find.”

“He's a smart kid. He has a good head on his shoulders.”

“This will never be fully over for him if he stays here. You said it yourself: one Asif dies, another ten step up to take his place. If he stays here, he will never be truly safe. Just like we can never go back home. And that's why we can't leave him here. We just can't.”

“So what do we do with him? We can't just throw him on a plane with us and take him away from here. He still has a father. Technically.”

“A father who doesn't care about him,” she points out. “If you cared about your kid, you wouldn't put them in such a shitty mess to begin with. How does a father do that? Choose a life like that over protecting and nurturing their own child?”

“Same kind of father who kills people for a living, I suppose.”

“Don't even compare the two. You kill people in the pursuit of helping other people. Ovi's dad kills people because he's an evil bastard. There's a huge difference.”

“Still not something I want my daughter finding out about me when she grows up.” It's a sobering thought. What the tiny baby nestled against his chest will be like when she is Ovi's age. He's not entirely sure that he would want her to know the ugly truth of his past. 

“You should go and talk to him,” she suggests.

“Who?”

“Ovi's dad.”

“Why the hell would I go and talk to him? Why would he even want to see me?”

“You're the man who saved his son. Why wouldn't he want to see you?”

“Maybe I could ask him where the fuck the rest of my money is.”

“It wasn't about the money and you know it. At least not at the end.”

She was right. Somewhere along the line, the Dhaka job had went from mercenary work to mercy work. The money hadn't mattered in the grand scheme of thing All that had mattered was getting that kid home. As if making sure Ovi was safe and sound was Tyler's way of achieving absolution for the mistakes of his past. 

“What would I say to him?” 

“You could start with, 'hey,I'm the guy that got shot in the throat and nearly bled to death while bringing your son back to you, you grateful fuck'.”

Tyler grins. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Tell him that his son deserves better. That his son deserves to have a future. That he deserves a family. People that will love him. Support him. Nurture him. Someone that will help him become a good man that helps people instead of hurting them. I mean, he must have at least some shred of humanity left, right? Some inkling of compassion you can exploit. I can't imagine him being that evil where he doesn't have at least ounce of love for his own child.”

“People like him aren't human, love. They aren't like you and I. They feel nothing.”

“But it's at least worth a try, right? You could go there and see if he'd be willing to see you. It doesn't hurt to go there and see what happens. “

“And say what? I'm here to take your kid? I don't know where yet, but he's coming along any way. And are you really being serious about this? You want the kid to come and stay with us?”

“He trusts us. He loves us. Especially you. He would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“We have our own family. We have a baby. We want more babies. Do we really want to add a teenager into all of that?”

“Not just any teenager, Tyler . This isn't just some teenager. This is Ovi. And he deserves to know what it feels like to be wanted. To be loved.”

Sighing heavily, he closes his eyes and leans his head against the back of the chair. His arm around her, thumb stroking her shoulder.

“He needs you, Tyler. And I think in some way, you need him too.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it doesn't mean I'm what's good for him.”

“You're already an amazing father to your own kid. What would stop you from being an amazing father to him?” she rests her chin on his shoulder and looks at him, her fingertips grazing along the shorn hair at the nape of his neck. “Promise me you'll at least think about it That you won't just leave the kid here when this is all over. Don't abandon him like his father did. Promise me you won't do that.”

Sliding his hand up to her shoulder, he kisses her. Short and soft and sweet.

“I promise.”


	16. Chapter 16

A week later he waits across the street from Hargrave school. Leaning back against the driver's door of a rented SUV.; arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses covering his eyes, smoking a cigarette. He'd given up the habit months ago; being in the hospital for an extended period of time successfully cleanses your body and mind of all your vices. But with his desire to drink again returning at a furious and alarming pace and his med use just slightly above normal, he had figured having one awful habit wasn't necessarily a bad thing. 

He remains expressionless yet his as eyes are continuously working. Observing the surroundings, scanning the sidewalks and the road for anything that seems suspicious. So far nothing seems out of the ordinary. Drivers behind the wheel of cars idling along the curbs, a lone maintenance worker watering the gardens out from. There didn't seem to be anyone...besides him....casing the place. No cars making multiple trips around the block. Just normal people going about their day: parents waiting to pick up their kids, a handful of early release students trickling through the front doors.

His cell phone vibrates against his leg and he fishes it from the side pocket of his cargo shorts. A smiling tugging at the corners of his mouth. A picture from his wife: a picture of their baby girl in a brightly coloured sundress and matching hat that one of the maids had gifted her with. And at that moment it seems so surreal; the realization that he was a dad again. Some days you're just going through the motions; moving from one moment to the next without even thinking about what you're doing. Other days you're sitting in a quiet room or lying in bed and out of nowhere you think 'wow'. This is one of those times. Where it actually hits him: how far he's come, the good things in his life that he has accomplished, how the guilt and the regret of the past aren't nearly as painful as they were even six months ago. A year ago he'd been hoping to catch a bullet. Now he was desperate to escape catching one.

A text message comes next. Asking him if everything is okay. It's a covert way of asking if he's seen anything troubling or if he's caught wind of any brewing. But he wants to tell her that everything is awesome. That she and their little girl are awesome. That he's sorry for getting them mixed up in his bullshit. That he can't wait to see them. Maybe it's the worry that something will happen to them if he's gone for too long; that he'll get back to the house and all hell would have broken loose and his wife and kid missing. Or maybe it's the reality that the only time he's truly happy is when he's with them. That they are the ones who are keeping him sane. From returning to old habits and old feelings and the desire to just end it all.

He messages back. Telling her that everything is fine. That he's just waiting for the kid to get out of school. That they're going to go somewhere and talk, just the two of them. That he'll be home before dinner is on the table. That he loves them.

The bell rings, signalling the end of the school day. And within minutes the doors are bursting open and students are flowing out; a tsunami of giggling girls talking in ridiculously high pitches, guys with too much swagger and not enough common sense to realize the ladies aren't falling for their fake macho bullshit, jocks picking on the weaker kids. His own high school experience had been normal enough; teetering the line between jock and serious student. But there'd been higher education or career that had appealed to him. He'd always been a tad reckless. Restless. And he needed something with action and adventure. That would keep his body and his mind busy. And he'd enrolled in the army only two days following graduation. He'd always been a naturally gifted athlete; tall, broad shouldered, strong. And passing basic training had remarkably easy.

Eighteen years seemed like a lifetime ago. A lifetime filled with more action and danger and risk of death than he could ever have managed. His own demons making a transition from full time solider to mercenary alarmingly seamless. 

He slips his phone back into his pocket as he sees the kid coming down the stairs; alone, eyes downcast, his thumb hooked around the straps of his backpack. He's taller than most of his classmates now. And seems so much older than that kid he'd rescued out of that filthy apartment in Dhaka. He's been through a lot. Seeing and hearing things that no kid should ever have to. The terror of being kidnapped followed by a stranger busting you free, but not before they'd slaughtered an entire room of people. Tyler imagines that he would have been confused; his eyes wide as he stepped over bleeding and broken corpses, following a complete stranger into yet another unknown and terrifying situation. Everything had gone wrong after that. Tyler had never had a job go that bad. There had been injuries and death left behind, but his duties had been fulfilled quickly and successfully. Walking away with no injuries and permanent scars but nice healthy pay checks.

Everything that could go wrong did. A fucked up series of horrible events that came to an end on that bridge.

Ovi stops when he sees him; startled at first, his head moving from left to right as he looks for the usual drivers that pick him up. Then a broad smile brightens his entire face and he's practically skipping across the street. Once again throwing this arm around Tyler and embracing him tightly. A year ago he'd hesitated to even touch the kid. When Ovi had clung to him on the stairs at Gaspar's. And he remembers the initial shock of the moment, and how'd he cautiously brought his hand up to the kid's head. It had been a long time since he'd had to comfort someone. He didn't form personal relationships with the people he helped. He simply got shit done and went on with his life.

Unlike a year ago, he doesn't hesitate when returning the embrace. The kid is desperate for affection. He craves it. Needs it. And maybe somewhere deep down inside, Tyler does to.

“What are you doing here?” Ovi asks, as Tyler tousles his hair and the kid steps out of the hug. 

“Thought you could use the change of pace. Thought maybe we could go somewhere and talk. Privately. I know it's not easy to get some things out when there's so many ears around.” The guards unnerved the kid instead of calming him. He was skittish when they were around; never able to fully relax. 

“About what?” 

“I don't know. Things,” he takes the final drag of his cigarette and tosses it to the ground, extinguishing it with the sole of his shoe. 

An eyebrow hitches. “You smoke?

“Always have. Just had to quit for a while. Just don't tell my wife, okay? It wouldn't go over very well.”

Ovi nods, moving around to the other side of the SUV as Tyler pops open the driver's side door. Tossing his school bag into the back seat and ready to climb in when a soft, beautiful voice captures his attention.

“Hi Ovi.”

Tyler notices the way the kid's eyes widen, the way he looks both terrified and excited that the young woman has actually spoken to him. She's cute; tall and willowy with shimmering black hair pulled into two braided ponytails. And he grins as Ovi stutters and stumbles over his words, struggling to get out even a simple hello in return. 

“I'll see you tomorrow right?” she inquires hopefully, and he nods in response and then holds his hand up in a small wave of farewell before climbing into the SUV.

“Is that her?” Tyler asks, watching through the rear view mirror as she bounces off with her friends, but not before she glances back over her shoulder, getting in one last look. “Is that her?” he asks. “The girl you talked about last night?”

Ovi nods. 

“Well done, kid,” he grins, as he fires up the engine. “Well done.”

****

They slip into booth tucked into the back corner of a nearby deli. The flow of traffic is light; two customers sitting right at the corner and a third near the hallway the leads to the washroom, and while Ovi orders from the menu, Tyler opts for black coffee. He sits facing the entrance. Always cautious. Feeling that now familiar weight of the gun that rests on his hip. 

Ovi chatters on about school and upcoming football tryouts; sipping a vanilla milkshake and nibbling from a heaping plate of french fries smothered in ketchup. The excitement and the hope for a calmer immediate feature drips from every word. He's optimistic. Enthusiastic. Tyler has provided him with a level of safety and security that he hasn't feel for weeks. Probably even months. Spending most of his days since the extraction nervous about possible retribution, constantly looking over his shoulder and wary of everyone and everything. 

“Remember how you were telling me about looking into colleges away from home?” Tyler speaks now, as Ovi delves a little more eagerly into the french fries. “You said you wanted to get away from here once you got out of high school.”

Ovi nods, then his eyes narrow. “You're not going to try and talk me out of it, are you?”

“Naw, mate. I can totally understand wanting to get away. Wanting to escape. It's why I joined the army once I was old enough. I needed to get away from some bullshit too.”

“From your parents?”

“From my dad. My mom was already gone. She died when I was twelve. Car accident.”  
Ovi gives a sad smile. “I'm sorry.”

“My old man and I never got along. Even when she was still alive. I don't think he ever really wanted kids, to be honest. He wanted my mom all to himself and then I came along and totally ruined that. He's resented me for a long time. I've always been a burden to him. Someone that cost him too much money and clothe and put a roof over his head. He hated that my mom and I were so close. Not because he wanted to be close with me. But because I took my mom away from him.”

The emotion chokes at him. Sitting heavily in his chest and tightening his throat. In the same way in at that night at Gaspar's when he'd told Ovi about his failed marriage and the death of his son. And he takes a swig of coffee to wash down the mixed feelings of bitterness, grief, and anger.

“So I totally get why you want to get away. I don't think anyone could blame you. Especially after everything that you've been through. Sometimes we have to leave everything behind. Can't have much of a future if you're spending your whole time living in the past, know what I mean?”

Ovi nods.

“You ever thought of Colorado?” Tyler asks. 

“Like in the United States?”

“Unless there's another Colorado I don't know about.”

“Isn't it really cold there? Doesn't it snow all the time?”

“Not three hundred and sixty five days a year. It's supposed to be beautiful there. Mountains, lots of fresh air, tons of things to do. That's where Esme's from. A little place with about twenty five hundred people. Her family is still there. Mom and step dad, brothers, a sister. Tons of nieces and nephews.”

“So now you do have a family,” the kids says, and Tyler nods slowly.

“I suppose I do, mate. Would be nice to meet them, though. I've only ever seen them through video calls or talked to them on the phone.”

“So they haven't met the baby then?” Ovi's smile fades. “That's really sad.”

“Yeah, it is. They deserve to meet her. And she deserves to meet them,” he sips his coffee. “We're moving there. When all this is over.” 

It isn't finalized; they haven't made any concrete plans. But the other night in bed he'd gone onto the 'net and   
looked up houses and job prospects and Esme had seemed warmer to the idea. He can see himself settling down there; buying a fixer upper with a view of the mountains, enough land to have chickens and goats (her idea, he felt they'd shit everywhere even more than chickens) and room for their kids to play. They had just enough money between the two of them in savings that they could afford a decent down payment and still have a bit in the bank for a rainy day.

“You are?” Ovi's eyes widen. “You're going that far from home? Why?”

“It's time to move on, I guess. She gave up everything in her life to move to Australia and take care of me and get me back on my feet. She misses home. And I owe it to her to give her that piece of her life back.”

He also lays out the harsh truth. That he's made a lot of enemies along the way; stepped on a lot of toes. It's naive to think that the actions of the past don't have ramifications on your future. Now that whoever is behind the recent drama knows where he lives, it wouldn't be safe to go back. And he couldn't put his family through that. Instead when everything was over, they'd take their passports and leave. With nothing more than the clothes on their backs and a few personal items. It wouldn't take long to get on their feet; he wasn't worried about not being able to find work or support his family. And if that meant living out of cheap motels until they found a permanent place, it was what he was willing to do.

“But you guys will be even further away,” the kid laments. “What if I need you? You'll be even further away.”

“Not if you come with us.”  
Ovi blinks. “Come with you?”

“We don't have a lot, mate. It won't be the life you have here. But at least you'd have a life. You won't have to be a prisoner in your own place. You won't constantly be looking over your shoulder or seeing something or hearing something that makes you think of what happened in Dhaka. It won't be easy. It's going to be hard for all of us. But that's better than what you've got going on here.”

“You really want me there? With you and your family?”

“We won't be able to put you in an expensive school like you're in now. There's no way we could ever afford something like that. And we definitely won't be getting a place like you have now. You're going to have to slum it.”

“I don't care about that. None of that matters to me.”

“You'd be safe there. Safe with us. Most importantly, you'd have people around you that actually care about you. Who worry about you and want what's best for you. You got a shit deal in this life, kid. You've got an old man that doesn't give a fuck about you and put you in all this bullshit to begin with. But you don't have to stay stuck in all of this. And we're worried what might happen to you if you do.”

Tears sparkle in his eyes, yet a broad grin spreads across his face. “You want me to come and live with you?”

“Like I said, we can't give you much. But we can give you a real home.”

“Like a family,” his voice is a near whisper.

“Now nothing's set in stone, mate, so don't get your hopes up yet. There's some things that need to get worked out before we can even start making arrangements to take you anywhere. I still have to go and talk to your old man.”

“My father?” he's perplexed. Maybe even a little scared. “Why?”

“Well I can't just take you out oh India. That's kidnapping. And kidnapping a drug lord's son? Didn't we just go through that a year ago? There's no need to repeat that. I need to go and see him. Have a man to man. He must have at least ounce of humanity left, right? There must be some part of him that cares about his own kid.”

“He thinks of me the same way you do. More like a thing than a person.”

Tyler can still hear those words. As clear as day.

“He doesn't care about anything,” Ovi says now. “Or anyone. It's why I'm in the mess I'm in. Why I was in the mess I was in last year.”

“Well we got you out of that mess and we'll get you out of this one too. I'll talk to your father. Try to reason with him.”

“And if that doesn't work?”

“Well, if that doesn't work, I've got other ways of convincing people to give me what I want.”

“You'd kill him?”

“What?” Tyler chuckles. “That isn't always my go to, you know. I don't always kill people. Sometimes I do other things.”

“Like rescue people.”

He nods. It's the exact opposite of the conversation that they'd had in that bedroom at Gaspar's house. When Ovi had asked if he'd always been this way. Brave.

Ovi sighs heavily. Helps himself to a french fry. Another sip of his shake. Then he smiles.

“You know, I think I could get used to Colorado.”

****

The grass is a stunning emerald green. Sparkling gloriously in the sunlight; plush and smooth against bare feet as she wanders into the courtyard, baby in her arms. Talking something yet animatedly about their new surroundings, about the trees that tower of them, the smell of the flowers in bloom, the way the grass smells and feels, the way the brilliant rays sun cause the ripples in the pool to sparkle and dance. It is a beautiful home with even more beautiful surroundings; modern, spacious, impeccably clean, But inside it was cold and uncomfortable. Sterile. As if no one had lived there for years. Not a spec of dust or a single dirty dish in the song. No sounds of laughter. No conversations around the dinner table. 

And definitely no love.

She'd grown tired of staring at the walls; going stir crazy with nothing more than the wander the halls, take a nap, or read a book. She'd tried engaging the workers in conversation; English was their second language and for the most part, spoke it impeccably. But they'd just stared at her as if she'd grown another head. As if she'd broken some written that law that prohibited the help from fraternizing with those that inhabited the house. It was strange way to live; merely floating through your day, no real human contact as you just completed one chore after another. The job had been lonely at times; returning to an empty hotel room, never knowing when you'd step foot through your own front door again. But at least there had always been human contact. 

Her heart breaks for Ovi. Being a teenager is hard enough. But being a teenager in his situation was unfathomable. A poor kid thrust into a life of chaos because of his father's poor choices. Left alone in an enormous house, surrounded by beautiful things, yet having nothing to truly cherish. With Saju he'd had least had someone that genuinely cared for his health and well being, even if it did take the threat against his own child to show as much. He'd had someone there to guide him. Protect him. And once he'd died, Ovi had truly been left with nothing. 

She selects a spot near the pool, sinking down into the grass, back to the water, legs in the shade cast by a large tree. She places the her thighs, waiting until the cool breeze and the chirping of birds bring on the beginnings of a much needed nap before she leans back. Hands on the grass behind her, head tilted back, eyes closed as she lets the sun bathe her face in warm. Needing a moment of calm. An escape from those eerily quiet hallways and those sterile walls. From the staff always underfoot and watching to fill even her basic needs. From the thoughts of twelve months ago. When she'd met both Tyler Rake and Ovi Mahajan Junior for the first time and her life changed in the blink of an eye.

Nik had called a half an hour before. The news was good but not great. She had been able to track down a last name for Farhad but not an exactly location. With no registered place of address and no known associates, it was proving difficult to to pinpoint is exact location. Somewhere near the market was useless. Those areas were densely populated and the residents and shop keepers feared retribution if they spoke out against the criminals. 

It had been the first time in a year that Esme had been the strong and assertive one. Telling her that she didn't want to hear excuses. The anniversary of the Dhaka job was four days away. And she wanted an address and a meeting time set up.

***

“You know, you shouldn't be out here alone.”

Opening her eyes, she places as a hand over them to shield them from the sun. “I'm not. There's two guards on the roof and three constantly patrolling. That is not being out alone.”

“Someone is supposed to be with you at all times. You know the rules.”

“Fuck the rules,” she grumbles. Actually missing the days she was the one on the job, watching out for someone else. “And you're in my sun.”

Jason steps to the side, and she closes her eyes and tilts her head back again. 

“You don't need to be here,” she reminds him. 

“Someone needs to be.”

“I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And if someone is able to get past two arm guards on the roof and the two out there, then we are well and truly fucked and might as well give up. Because they're obviously superhuman. So...”

“Well forgive me for saying so, but guns can do a lot of damage.”

“You've never heard a first hand account about how a human being can kill someone with a garden rake, have you?”

Jason frowns. “What?”

“It was two people actually. One with the handle and one with the...never mind. Let's just say, it wasn't pretty. Seriously, Jason. Go inside. I'm all out of patience and fucks today. And I like you, but...”

“Well at least one of you does.”

She sighs. “You're still not ass hurt about that are you? You crossed a line. You got called out on it. Live and learn.”

“Sounds like you've been spending the last year of your life making a lot of excuses for him.”

“Sounds like maybe you need stop before you cross another line. You're just here because this is where Nik sent you. We're not here to be friends. I'm just a job. In the same way other people were just the job when I got into the game. It is what it is.”

“What I'm curious about is how the two of you ended up forgetting that. That it you were there to do a job.”

Sighing, she sits up and runs her palms along the sides of her thighs to clear the grass away. “What is your obsession with Tyler? It's kind of creepy. First you kiss his ass royally the first day you meet him and now you're all up his ass for some reason. I don't know what you think you know about him. About us. And to be quite frank, I don't really give a shit. But he's my husband. The father of my child. And I'm not the type that will sit back and let you shit talk him. So if there's what you're here for...”

He holds his hands up in surrender, then unbuttons his suit jacket and sits down on the grass beside her.

“Really?” she asks. “Do you have no concept of personal space? And weren't you told to stay away from me?”

His eyes sparkle mischievously. “Are you going to tell on me?”

“Kid, you are walking a very thin line. You will not like what happens to you if I do rat you out. Remember the thing with the garden rake I just told you about that? That will look tame compared to what happens to you. Why are you like this? Why do you feel the need to be around me? It's just creepy as fuck.”

“Just trying to be friendly, I suppose.”

“Friendly is talking about shared interests and the weather. You're asking me questions about my personal life. That's not normal.”

“I was just curious, that's all. You and Tyler both go on and on about the importance of the job and not forming bonds with the people you help, but the two of you couldn't even follow that yourselves. It seems a little...I don't know...hypocritical.”

“It was a year ago. It happened. Maybe it wasn't the best decision either of us ever made and maybe we should have stopped it, but we didn't. Trust me, we aren't the only two that have done something like that. It happens more often than you think. We're just the ones that got caught doing it.”

Or maybe they just hadn't been very good at hiding it. G had figured it out. Asking about it when she'd met up with him in the woods, where they had hunkered down to wait for Tyler to bring Ovi to the extraction point. Anxious to just get the hell out of there. He'd been more curious than judgmental. After all, he'd met his own wife when he'd been hired to rescue someone. She hadn't been directly related to the job, but their paths had still crossed.

“Come on, you can't fool me,” he'd grinned, when she'd tried denying that there was anything going on between her and Tyler. They'd simply had to pretend they were married and be convincing about it. And she'd insisted that he gave her the bed while she slept on the floor. 

Which had been true. Even if only lasted the first night. 

“Who cares what people will think,” he'd said. “You're two consenting adults. You ended up getting the job done. Nothing got fucked up because Tyler couldn't keep it in his pants. Hopefully the two of you had some fun while doing that whole pretend marriage thing.”

:If only he'd known just how fun. 

“I mean, if you weren't strong enough to stop it, you should have at least been careful about things.”

Esme smirks. “You're starting to sound like Nik.”

“Well, it's true. Don't you think?”

“I think you need to mind your own business kid. What happened between Tyler and I is none of your business. Maybe we should have. Maybe we shouldn't have let ourselves get out so out of control that the thought of being careful never crossed out minds. But it happened. It happened and she's here because of it...” she smiles at the baby sleeping on her thighs; dark eye lashes brushing against her cheeks, mouth moving as if suckling a bottle. And she gently runs her fingers through Amelia's hair, noticing the way the sun picks up the hint of red she'd inherited from her daddy. “..she's here and she's amazing and I'm lucky to have her. To have both of them. Tyler has his issues and his fault. He's not perfect. But he's perfect for me. For us.”

Finally silence. And she feels as if she can breathe again. Not stuck in a seemingly endless circle of having to explain and defend her choices twelve months ago to strangers and friends. Her family had been baffled enough. Not understanding how a simple business trip ended up with her never returning home, a marriage, and a baby. All in the span of less than a year. And if they ever found out the whole truth about the 'business trip'...

***

“Are you happy?” Jason asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you happy?” he repeats. “Like genuinely happy. Or are you just stuck?”

“Kid, you must really have a death wish. Asking me stuff like this. What is wrong with you?”

“It's a simple question.”

“It's a nosy ass question. And I don't know you enough to be talking about these things with you.”

“I don't know why it's so hard to answer.”

“I don't know what's so hard for you to understand that I'm not talking about these things with you. Why are you caught up on my marriage? Jesus.”

“You just don't seem happy is all,” he remarks. 

“Well forgive me if this isn't exactly the place I want to be. Dealing with the same kind of bullshit that brought me last year in the first place. You have no idea what went down. How bad it went. So you can't even begin to understand why we are all a little fucked up because of it.”

“Like I said. Just trying to make conversation.”

“Well go and make conversation with someone else, somewhere else. This is not the idea of 'me time' I had when I first came out. So if you don't mind...”

He opens his mouth to continue, but changes his mind. 

Several minutes pass by before Esme speaks:

“Are you really that into making yourself feel useful?” 

“I like feeling useful.”

“And I can trust you? I need to be able to trust you.”

“You can. One hundred percent.”

“I need you to go to Dhaka and track somebody down. Don't ask me why. You don't need to know why. I just need you to do it.”

“I don't know if it's a good idea to leave. Nik said...”

“I'll take care of Nik,” Esme says. “I would do this myself, but I've been out of the game for a while now and I have no resources left in Dhaka. All of my people have moved on to other things. I need you to track this person down and make arrangements for me to meet them. Three days from now. On the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Nowhere else. It has to be that bridge. Can you do it for me?”

“I'd have to leave tonight. It might take a couple days to even get any info. Never mind actually arrange a meeting.”

“Leave now if you have to. But I need you to do this. Can you? Do this?”'

He sighs heavily. Raking a hand through his sandy hair. Then slowly nods in confirmation and asks:

“So what's the name?”


	17. Chapter 17

They take advantage of a mix up at shift change and sneak out of the house. Unseen by the guards who were gathered in the kitchen arguing about placements and switching schedules and by Tyler who'd been holed up in Mahajan Senior's office for a half an hour, getting briefings from Nik and the others who had remained behind in Australia. Ovi had been reluctant; the unknown threat still lingering out there somewhere, and although quiet and motionless for the last three days, could strike at any moment. Without Tyler by his side he was nervous, on edge, and hated the idea of leaving the sanctity of the walls surrounding him. 

“We're not going far,” Esme had assured him, as she'd shoved her feet into a pair of flip flops. It had felt as if there was someone else saying those words and she was powerless to stop them as they poured from her lips. A year ago she would have been cautious. The very real dangers of the job keeping her hunkered down and expecting the unexpected. Always on high alert, ready to defend herself and those in her care. But she'd grown tired of being stuck in that enormous house; with nothing to do fret about the future and wonder when Jason's text from Dhaka would arrive. 

“Out the door is too far,” he'd nervously retorted.

“Just a couple of blocks. Just for some fresh air. Hurry up. Get your shoes on.”

“This is a bad idea,” they'd been in the front foyer, whispering, as if plotting the 'great escape'. “We can go into the courtyard for fresh air. Or for a swim.”

“Put your shoes on. It's fine. Just a couple blocks. I promise. And we can talk without your father's people hearing us. About Colorado.”

It was those final two words that had him complying, muttering worries about getting into trouble and he slid into a pair of sneakers.

“You need to relax,” Esme says now, as they stroll side by side, Ovi pushing the baby in her stroller. “Things have been quiet. You haven't received any letters or pictures and no one has been calling the house. They won't escalate into anything worse right now. It's probably going to take them a while to figure out where to go next. The stakes have been raised. They probably aren't smart enough to figure out their next move.”

“I hope so,” he sighs, looking over his shoulder. The fourth time in less than a block. “I shouldn't have let you talk me into this.”

“It's a walk, Ovi. We're only going a couple of blocks. To that park you mentioned. Then we'll turn around and go home.”

“A lot can happen in two blocks.”

She grins. “You're starting to sound like Tyler.”

“That's not a bad thing. He's very smart. And very strong. And brave. I wish I could be even a little bit brave like that.”

“You're a lot stronger and braver than you think. You're not the same kid you were when we met you a year ago. You went through a lot. Things that no kid should ever have to see. A lot of people would have cracked. I've seen adults crack under less pressure. You've got a good head on your shoulders, Ovi.. You're more like Tyler than you realize.”

He smiles at that. A broad, brilliant grin that lights up his entire face. To him it's a huge honour; being compared to the man that he idolizes. 

“Will we get in trouble?” he asks. “When they find out we're gone? Will Tyler be mad?”

“We'll be back home before anyone even realizes that we're gone. Relax, okay? Isn't it beautiful out right now? I love when the humidity breaks. When there's a bit of breeze in the air and everything isn't so still. When everything is...” her voice trails away, hands shoving into the pockets of her hoodie, eyes narrowing. 

“What it is?” she can hear the panic in his voice. “What's wrong?”

She waits, eyes following a black sedan as it slowly passes them. Watching over her shoulder as it continues down the street and hangs a left.

“Nothing,” she shoots him a reassuring smile, and hooks her arm through one of his as they continue on their stroll. “Sometimes I think I hear or see things. You can take the girl out of the job, but not the job out of the girl, I guess. So Colorado? Tyler talked to you about it?”

“After school today. I was honoured. That you guys would want me as part of your family.”

“You already are part of our family. Just because we were thousands of miles away, didn't mean that you weren't always with us. It's meant a lot to Tyler, you know. That you've kept in touch with him.”

“Why wouldn't I? He rescued me. He killed those guys in the apartment so he could get me out of there. He went through a lot to get me home. When things went bad, he could have just left me in the street like your boss told him to. But he didn't. He didn't care there was no money. He still didn't abandon me. Sometimes I wonder why he did that. Why he didn't leave me. It would have been easier on him if he did.”

“There's a lot of layers to Tyler,” she reasons. “And he doesn't let many people see them. You're one of the fortunate ones. He doesn't worry about being transparent with you. And that's something he's struggled with his entire life.”

“Because of his family? He told me. About his dad.”

“His dad. A failed first marriage. His son. Other mistakes he'd made that he hates himself for. He cares about you, Ovi. He doesn't get personally involved with the people he helps. He sees them as a pay check and nothing more. You're different. He was looking for absolution, and you were the one that gave it to him.”

“Absolution? For his son?”

“He carries a lot of guilt over the choice he made. He hides it well. But it's there. And some days it is merciless. He's a good man, Ovi. A good man that made bad choices. And you were the chance to make a right choice. A chance to do something good after all the bad. In many ways, you rescued him.”

“Really?” tears sparkle in his eyes, the words humbling. It was overwhelming enough to know that someone had sacrificed themselves, that they very nearly died for you. 

“Don't ever doubt the impact that you have on his life. On both of our lives. It's enormous. Why else would we ask you to come with us? We want you to have a life, Ovi. A real life. In a house where people love you and want what's best for you. That's all we want. But it's what you want that matters. I know how hard it is to leave home. Even if things aren't the best. Home is home, you know?”

He nods.

“We can't give you what you have now. But we can give you a roof over your head and food in your belly and clothes on your back. And love. We can give you love.”

“It sounds like paradise,” he breathes, and she smiles and now wraps both arms around his one. “What is it like?” he asks. “Colorado? Is it cold? Does it snow all the time? Tyler says it doesn't, but...”

“We have normal seasons like everyone else. Spring, winter, summer, fall. It tends to stay colder for longer and the snow does linger well into mid to late April sometimes. But it's beautiful. The town where I'm from, where we are thinking of going to, is small and quaint. The type where everyone knows each other and they talk in the street instead of avoiding eye contact. We don't even have a proper grocery store. You have to go into one of the bigger towns for that. But we do have a corner store and a butcher and a really nice cafe. It's my parents'. My mom's baby since she retired. Well, other than riding her Harley and visiting Graceland.”

His eyes widen. “Your mom has a motorcycle? Does she wear leather? And have tattoos?”

“Well she does have a leather jacket and pants. But no tattoos. She could have one now though. I haven't been home in a long time. I think you'd like it there. It's quiet and cute and people are friendly and there's none of the bullshit that comes with bigger places. It comes with its own bullshit, but nothing serious. Maybe a neighbour snooping through mail or complaining about the colour someone used to paint their fence. But that's about it.”

“It sounds nice. I would very much like to go there.”

“It's one of the options. Tyler really wants to go there. He seems to have his heart set on it.”

'But you don't?” 

“I don't know,” she admits, and issues a heavy sigh. “I don't know if that's where I'm meant to be any more. He thinks that's where I should be. That I need to reconnect with my family. With my roots. And that they deserve to have Amelia in their lives. And I get that. I understand his reasoning. He feels that I gave up everything for him. Which I did. But I think he thinks that I did it out of some feeling of obligation. That I did it because he didn't have anyone else who would.”

“So why did you? Do it? Stay in Australia when your whole life is somewhere else?”

“Because I was in love with him. Because I wanted to have a future with him. Or at least try and have a future with him. Our plan after Dhaka was to travel together. He was going to come to Colorado and spend some time there and then we were just going to pack up and see where things took us. Just spend time really getting to know one another. Not just the getting to know each other that we did in Dhaka. There was some emotional connection but it was purely physical for the most part. And we both wanted more than that. We both wanted to see if we'd work outside of the job. If we'd click.”

“And you did. Click.”

“Maybe not right away because of the situation, but yeah. We did. And it was a pleasant surprise and it was a relief knowing that it wasn't just some passing thing. And then we found out we were having a baby and that was quite the surprise. But we adapted. We always do.”

“Well I'm glad,” Ovi says. “That you clicked. I could tell you know. In that warehouse. That you weren't just friends. It was the way he looked at you. The way his whole voice changed when he talked to you. It's the same way now.”

“He's the love of my life,” she readily admits. “I was married before. I thought that was the person I'd spend the rest of my life with. And things started out great. They really did. But the corps changed him. Especially when he got a promotion. He became a different person. A horrible person. So I had to walk away. From him and the corps. I told myself I'd never get married again. That I'd never make the same mistake of giving my heart to someone. And...well...here I am. Someone's wife. Someone's mother.”

“I truly think that everything in life serves a purpose,” Ovi muses. “That things always happen for a reason, If your first husband didn't turn out bad, you wouldn't have left the Marines and gotten your other job. And if you hadn't have gotten the other job, you would have never met Tyler. And with no Tyler, there's no Amelia. And it's a good thing that she's here. I love her. It's like having a baby sister. Even if we're not wrapped in the same colour packaging.”

“She's a baby. None of that matters to her. Or us. And we'd be honoured if you would come with us. Like I said, we can't give you a lot and we can't...”

Her voice once again trails off. Watching as the black sedan passes them. This time slowing down and nearly coming to a stop at the curb only a few feet away. Two occupants. Indian. A male driver and a female passenger. No discretion as the observe them.

“Do you have your phone?” Esme asks, voice low. 

“No. It's charging. I left it at the house. You didn't bring yours?”

“Shit! I forgot it in the office. Tyler was in there with Nik and the others on conference call and I didn't want to disturb them. Shit...okay...” 

Think, Esme. Think. This isn't as hard as you're making it. You've been in situations like this numerous times. Having to rely on your instincts and minimal materials to work with. 

Damn mom brain!

“Is there another way back to your place?” she inquires. 

“Just through the park,” he's starting to panic. Eyes wide with terror. Sweat beading on his brow and his upper lip. His entire body visibly trembling.

“Okay, just calm down. It could be nothing. Just try and relax. Don't panic. So we go through the park?”

“If we cut through there we get to the next street over. There's an alley. It passes by the back of my house.”

“How far? How far is it through the park and to the other street? Are there any other roads that lead that way? Think Ovi. I need you to think. I need you to help me out here.”

“No other roads. Two blocks. Maybe three.”

Shit. A lot further than she'd expected.

“That's what we'll do,” she decides, and tightens the hold on his arm. “Let's go. Walk. Don't run. Just walk like everything is fine. If you freak out, they know they have you. It drives them. Gives them power. Gives them confidence to amp things up. So just stay calm and breathe. Look at me, Ovi. Look at me.”

He obeys.

“Do you trust me?”

He nods, a spark of confidence in his eyes.

“Good,” she tugs on his arm to get him moving. “Let's go.”

****

Calm has settled in by the time they reach the alley. The car was unable to follow them through the park, and with no other roads to use aside from the ones that boarded each side of the Mahajan home, it had slowed them down considerably. She was unsure if there was ever actually a threat or if it had just been an average couple out for a twilight stroll, curious about the mismatched couple on the sidewalk. But it had felt real. Threatening. And even if her instincts were wrong and she took things too seriously, it was better to have nothing happen than the worst happen.

But now there's another dilemma. 

“Shit! Fuck!” she curses, when she reaches through the wrought iron gate to unlock it. Only to find a large, heavy padlock fastened securely to the hinge. “Are you serious right now?”

Ovi looks sheepish. Apologetic. “I forgot to to tell you it was locked.”

“Well there's no way we are going back down the alley, looping back around, and going to the front of the house. That's too much time for someone to see us and make their move. If there's actually any move to make.”

She places her hands on her hips, surveying the gaps in the gate. Way too narrow for either her or Ovi to slip through. A brick wall bordering the backyard. At least six feet. High enough to keep away nosy eyes and most predators.

“Have you ever climbed this wall?” she asks. “What's on the other side?”

“Just gardens. Flowers. Some roses. Nothing else.”

“So I'm not going to land on something that's going to kill me, right? I'm trusting you here. Don't throw me to the wolves”

“Nothing that could hurt you. No. What...?”

She kicks of her flip flops. “Kneel down. Put your hands together like this...” she locks her fingers together, palms up. “...you're going to help get me up there.”

“Esme...I don't know...I...”

“Just do it,” she snaps. “Work with me here. I'm lighter. I can get up there better. I wouldn't be able to push you up. Ready...”

“I don't know. I think...”

“Kneel down and get your hands together. Now. The longer you wait, the better chance they have of catching up. Come on, kid. We don't have all night.”

He reluctantly drops to one knee and laces his fingers together. Waiting until she has her foot firmly planted in his palms before slowly standing, effectively helping her scale the brick.

The rough material bites and digs into her bare skin with each movement. Exhaling sharply with her hands lose their grip and she slips; painfully scraping both legs from the knees to the tops of her feet. But she makes it; straddling the wall with one leg on either side of it, cleaning dirt and blood from the palms of her hands and fingers on the thighs of her shorts.

“Where's the key?” she asks. “Somewhere I can find it on my own?”

“In the kitchen. The cupboard by the patio door.”

“Wait here,” she commands. “Stay here with the baby. Don't move an inch. Got it?”

He opens his mouth to speak but she's gone. Making the drop from the top of the fence and into the garden.

“Sonofabitch!” she hisses, when she lands directly into a rose bush. The thorns immediately tearing clothing, puncturing clothing. “It is all roses, Ovi! What the hell?!”

“Sorry,” comes the sheepish reply. “Are you okay?”

“I've had worse. Now stay there and keep your eyes open. Got it?”

“Got it.”

She hurries for the house. The soles of her feet burning from the friction caused by the bricks. Clothing ripped from the contact with the thorns. The skin on her legs and palms scrapped; small trickles of blood sliding down the skin. There's no one in the kitchen; the house quiet. And she's able to slip through the patio door and snag the key from the drawer just before she hears two of the guards speaking and their footsteps in the hallway.

Palming the key, she slips through the patio door and closes it quietly behind her as to not attract any attention. Then rushes back to where Ovi is waiting at the gate. Wide eyed and panicky yet again.

“They were here!” he cries, as she fumbles with the key and finally gets the heavy lock open. “They sat the end of the alley. Just watching me.”

“Everything's fine now,” she assures him, and pushes the gate open to allow him and the baby entrance. “We're home. Safe and sound.”

He frowns, regarding her from head to toe. “You're bleeding.”

“I just fell into the rose bush from hell. Let's go,” she grabs him by the upper arm and pulls him into the backyard. Quietly shutting the gate and locking it back up.

He finally lets out a shaky sigh of relief. Close to tears. Sweating profusely.

“We are never doing that again”

****

“That was really fucking stupid,” Tyler fumes an hour later as he paces the master bedroom, watching as his wife sits in the window seat, using peroxide and cotton balls to clean the wounds on her legs. “Like really fucking stupid. Epically fucking stupid.”

Incensed doesn't even begin to properly describe what he feels. The panic that had set in when she'd casually wandered into the office announcing that there'd been an 'issue'; clothing torn and dirty, blood streaking her legs and the palms of her hands. Some smeared across her forehead. Hair dishevelled, mud and grass covering nearly every inch of her. When it became apparent that she wasn't seriously injured yet more embarrassed and ashamed that she couldn't hide her escape from the house, he'd lost it. 

“I have to go,” he'd said into the phone, voice low and menacing. 

A tone that means trouble.

The fight that ensued was epic. Almost surpassing the one they'd had in Dhaka a year ago. The one that had ended up with them in bed together, naked and spent. This battle had been mostly one sided. Esme choosing to keep her mouth shut when she realized that her feeble excuses and her explanations and her 'everything turned out fine' was only making the situation worse. His temper was legendary. It took a while for him to explode but when he did...well it wasn't pretty.

“Which part?” she asks now. “The one where I snuck out of the house or when I scaled the brick wall? Because that was actually quiet impressive.”

“Do you think this is a joke? That this is some kind of game? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“We just went for a walk. I didn't think there would be anything to worry about.”

“There's always something to worry about on the job. Always someone to worry about. You fucking know that. I don't understand how you, of all people, could be so bloody stupid. You were in the job. You know the things that can happen. Yet you still went out there. You still dragged Ovi along with you. And believe me, I'll be on his ass next. The fact he actually let you talk him into this shit.”

“He's just a kid. Leave him alone. I shouldn't have pushed him into it like I did. He's just trying to make everyone happy.”

“I can't even believe we're having this conversation. That you would do something like this. You don't go off by yourself. Ever.” Shades of the conversation in that hotel room a year ago. When he'd been furious that she'd slipped away in the market and he couldn't find her. “What is wrong with you? You have some kind of death wish?”

“Oh that's rich coming from you, Tyler. When I met you, you were the one taking jobs in hopes they'd kill you. So let's not go there.”

His eyes narrow. Fists clenching at his sides. Jaw clenching. “You really did not say that.”

“When we met you were just about ready to put a gun to your head. Remember? You were the one that was hoping something...or someone...would take you out. And you accuse me of having a death wish?”

“That was a long time ago. Before I met you. Before I had a reason to not do it. Maybe you don't want to stick around for me, but we have a kid. She needs you. She needs her mother. And you even drag her off on your bullshit! Our fucking kid! If you want to kill yourself, go ahead. But don't take her with you. What the hell is wrong with you?”

She doesn't respond. Tears threatening as she tends to the wounds of her calves and shins. 

Sighing, he plops down onto the edge of the bed and rakes his hands through his hair. Then sits with his elbows on his knees, face in his palms. Trying desperately to calm himself down. And when he hears her sniffling, he removes his face from his hands and looks over. Frowning at the side of those huge, silent tears that slip down her dirty cheeks.

His knees crack as he stands, approaching slowly, carefully. Then crouches down in front of her and reaches for the bottle of peroxide and some fresh cotton balls. She tries to slap his hands away, relenting when he glares up at her.

“I'm sorry,” he says, as he soaks a cotton ball with peroxide and begins cleaning the wounds. Large, strong hands surprisingly tender. “I shouldn't have said some of those things. I didn't mean for it to sound like I wouldn't care if you killed yourself or that it wouldn't matter if you were around or not. Because it matters. It matters a hell of a lot.”

“I know,” she sniffles, and uses the back of her hand to clear away the tears. Effectively smudging the dirt and grim even more. 

“I just can't believe you would do something like that. You of all people. You're usually so much smarter than that, Esme. What the fuck? What is going on with you?”

She pushes a hand through his hair, fingers gripping the longer strands, pulling at them and forcing him to look up at her. Those dark eyes searching his, burrowing to his very soul. 

“I think I'm pregnant.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of blood and gun violence, smut

His hands still. Gaze never wavering. Heart thundering in his chest, throat contracting and releasing, brain trying to register the words that had just tumbled from her mouth. She looks...scared. As if there's a threat to be found in what she just said and the new reality that was now surrounding them. In her mind, the threat that occurred outside of the home was less terrifying than his reaction. Or the immediate lack thereof. Silence hangs over the room. Tense. Uncomfortable. A dense blanket thrown over them; suffocating and heavy. Two weeks ago, the announcement would have been met with excitement. His desire to have another baby so quickly after their first fulfilled even sooner than either of them expected. Now the words just linger the air, yet pack enough power to nearly knock him on his ass.  
  
She's watching. Waiting. Anticipating. Tears of worry filling her eyes. Top teeth digging into her bottom lip.  
  
“Tyler...” her voice is barely above a whisper, and when she reaches down to place a hand over his, he snaps out of it.   
  
Knocking her hand away as he returns to the task at hand; his touch rougher than before. Once surprisingly tender fingers now applying unneeded pressure to the cuts and gashes that adorn her legs. Mouth set in a grim line, breathing rapid, methodically applying the peroxide and then pressing it into the skin, placing bandages on the deeper wounds.  
  
“Tyler...” she tries again, attempting to lay a hand on the side of his face, only to have him use his elbow to push her away once more. “Please say something. Anything.”  
  
“Some of these are pretty deep,” his voice is low and steady. Rumbling deep within his chest. And she winces when he presses just a little too hard on a particularly sensitive spot. “Hopefully we've done enough to avoid infection, yeah? Last thing we need is a trip to the doctor. Let me see your hands...”  
  
She obliges, laying them on her thighs, palms up.  
  
“What a stupid fucking mess,” he grumbles, and he's unsure if he means the injuries she's sporting, her hair brained idea to get out of the house alone, or the bomb she'd just dropped on him.  
  
“I didn't think it possible so soon,” she says, as he tends to the abrasions on her hands. “She's only two months old. I've never heard of anyone having kids that close together. But it makes sense if you think about it. We haven't exactly been one hundred percent careful.”  
  
He sighs. Dumps a little too much peroxide onto her hand and then mutters profanities as it drips onto her shorts and the carpet below.  
  
“I have been sick a lot,” she continues, nervously rambling. “I didn't think much of it because this time I'm sick throughout the entire day. Not just in the mornings. And I have had headaches and trouble sleeping and I get dizzy from time to time, but I thought it was just all the stress from the past couple of weeks. And I know that my cycle has been screwed up and thrown off, but I've never actually skipped an entire one. This one is an entire week and a half late.”  
  
“Turn your hands over,” he instructs, and she does as told. Running a dampened cotton ball along each finer and their respective knuckles. “You were lucky,” he says. “Things could have been a lot worse.”  
  
“Could you please say something?” she pleads.  
  
“Am I not talking?” he retorts, the harshness in his voice surprising even him.  
  
“Not about this. I know how you feel about this. You think I was a dumb ass. That I was irresponsible. Careless. Foolish. You're pissed off that I put Ovi and Amelia in danger.”  
  
He nods in agreement.  
  
“But I need you to say something about the other...thing.”  
  
“I don't know what you want me to say,” he admits, and reaches for the bottle of peroxide, applying and tightening the cap.  
  
“Anything at this point in time. Or even some kind of reaction, at least. I need to know what you're thinking. What you're feeling. Because I don't like this. This silence. The way you get when you hear something you don't like.”  
  
“It's not that I don't like it. And under different circumstances I'd be over the fucking moon. But right now...” he inhales sharply, then lets the breath release slowly as he finally composes himself. Is he shocked? Angry? Disappointed? Worried? Maybe a mix of all of those emotions? “...this is definitely not a good time for this.”  
  
Was it ever as far as they were concerned? What was with the habit of introducing life altering decisions at the wrong possible times? It was as if bullshit was profoundly attracted to them. Reminding them just how fucked the start of their lives together actually was. Fate deciding that nothing could ever just be simple.  
  
“You were the one that wanted another baby this soon,” she reminds him. “A week and a half ago you were talking about wanting them really close together. What's changed?”  
  
“Everything. Everything's changed. Look where we are,” he can't control the anger that seeps from his voice. The frustration. “We can't even go home. We don't even have a home anymore. We have no idea where are going after this. All we have is our passports and whatever clothes we packed. We have nothing.”  
  
“We have each other. We have our daughter. And now Ovi.”  
  
“Where the hell are we going to go? We don't even have anything set up. So we just get on a plane and see where we end up? Hope we like it? Just say 'fuck it' and hope for the best?”  
  
“I already told you that I was fine with Colorado.”  
  
“And until we find a place there? We live in shitty hotels, eating shitty food. I have to go out and find a job. Somewhere that doesn't expect a resume. How do you think that would look on paper? Hired killer in the prior experience section? Or is that more a life skill?”  
  
“That isn't the only thing you do,” she reminds him “It never was.”  
  
“It's a big part of it. I kill people. Sometimes in the worst ways possible. And sometimes I do good. Sometimes I rescue people. That should find me a lot of jobs, yeah? When people see mercenary under previous employment?”  
  
“There's so many things you can do,” she reasons. “So many things you'd be good at. You said it yourself that you could try construction. You could get into factory work even. Or roofing. Masonry. You've always been really good with your hands.”  
  
“Sure. When I'm beating the hell out of someone or strangling the shit out of them. Not the experience most people are looking for, love.”  
  
“There will be something,” she assures him. “You're smart. Crazy strong. Healthy for the most part. There's a lot you can do. And as far as shitty motels and shitty food, at least we'll have a roof over our head and food in our stomachs.”  
  
“That's not the life I want for the daughter we already have, not to mention another kid. This is a bad time. Probably the worst possible time. With this job and the bullshit that comes with it and not knowing where the hell we are going to end up. And now have Ovi we're taking along and...”  
  
“Ovi is the least of our worries. He's a teenager that can take care of himself. Please tell me you're not upset,” her voice trembling, tears threatening once again. “Please tell me that you're just shocked and you're not legitimately upset.”  
  
“Shocked is one word for it, I suppose.”  
  
“Because if it is true, if I am, it's not like you'd want to do anything about it right? Like you wouldn't want to get rid of it or...”  
  
“What?” he asks incredulously “No. Never. I'd never think anything like that. You should know me better than by now. I'm surprised. I never thought it could happen this soon. And for the time it's happening at,” he shakes head, runs the palms of his hands along his thighs, knees popping and cracking as he stands up. “It's not the thought of having another baby that I'm upset about. And I'm not even upset. I'm...” he chooses his words carefully, wishing to avoid any further conflict between them. “...worried. I'm worried about having a baby in the midst all of this shit. About not even knowing where the hell we're going after this. With a teenager and another baby in tow. Without even so as much as proper medical care. If we don't have a proper place to live...”  
  
“We'll manage,” she says. “We always do. Even when all the cards are stacked against us, we always manage to pull it together and make things work,” she takes his hands in hers, turning the palms up towards her; eyes never looking away from his own, fingertips gliding along each of his digits, over callouses on his palms, and down onto the insides of his wrists. “We always get through things. Always.”  
  
Nodding in agreement, he attempts a reassuring smile. If there was one thing that they were exceptionally good at...aside from sex...it was their ability to work together and overcome seemingly insurmountable odds. Events that would make most couples and relationships crack under tremendous pressure. Instead of running when things got tough, they banded together. Worked even harder to make things work.  
  
“I'm sorry,” her voice bears a hint of remorse. Maybe even some guilt. “I know this isn't the way you thought your life would turn out. The way you thought things would go for you. If someone had have told you a year ago that you'd be a husband and a father...”  
  
“Esme...love...listen to me...” he is on his knees once again, ignoring that stabbing, burning pain that accompanies getting into such a simple position. “...listen to me...” he takes one of her hands in both of his, raising it to lips and pressing a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist. “...a year ago, I was thinking of saying 'fuck it' and putting a gun in my mouth. I was so sick and tired of all the bullshit. All the pain I was in, all the crap going on inside my head. And then you showed up completely out of blue at my place and changed everything. I don't regret what happened. Sometimes I wonder if things would have been easier if they hadn't have happened the way they did. I mean, how did G not mention that his wife had an insanely hot, single cousin?”  
  
She gives a little snort.  
  
“I so would have hooked up with at their wedding. That's all I'm saying. You wouldn't even have had to get me that drunk.”  
  
A laugh this time. Short. But it's there at least.  
  
“You came into my life when I needed someone the most. And I didn't even realize that I did. Just one day you were there and everything changed. For some reason it became easier to breathe again. You know, you say all the time that I came along and rescued you, but it was really you that rescued me.”  
  
She gives a small, sharp intake of breath, taking back by the honesty in his confession. Tyler Rake was a man of very few words, but often the ones he did say came with an overwhelming impact. She takes his face in her hands, his beard scratching her palms as she leans forward to kiss him.  
  
He can taste the salt of her tears on his lips, and when he pulls away they are flowing freely down her face; marking clear paths through the mud and grime that tarnishes her skin. Eyes closing as her hands slip around to the back of his head, nails lightly digging into his scalp as she presses a kiss to the bridge of tip of his nose, then the bridge, followed by under each eye and then his brow. A gesture so pure and tender that his own tears threaten and a lump of emotion lodges square in his throat. Head falling forward when her palms move to his face once more. Enjoying the way her nails scrape through his beard and the the pads of her fingers as they trail over his lips.  
  
“Are you trying to seduce me?” he inquires, and he can feel her smile against his lips as she kisses him.  
  
“I don't know. Is it working?”  
  
“Yeah...it's working...” he confirms with a chuckle, opening his eyes and turning his face into her hand, pressing his lips against the bruised palm. “....we should get you cleaned up,” he suggests. “Feeling better?”  
  
She nods. “I'm sorry. For sneaking out like that. And for taking Amelia and Ovi with me.”  
  
“You scared the shit out of me. When you walked in and all I saw was blood...it scared the ever loving shit right out of me. This isn't like you. Doing things like that. You of all people know better. You're usually smarter than this.”  
  
“Maybe it's the hormones,” she suggests, dragging her fingertips along the sides of his throat.  
  
“We don't know for sure that there's a baby in there. It could have just been you being doing something stupid.”  
  
“You must be rubbing off on me. You've been suggesting a lot of stupid shit lately.”  
  
“How do you know it's not you rubbing off on me?”  
  
“Because...” she tugs playfully at his earlobes. “...everyone knows I'm the brains and you're the muscle.”  
  
“More like Beauty and the Beast. I'll let you decide which one of us is the pretty one.”  
  
“You actually happen to very pretty. Well maybe not pretty. Pretty isn't the right for someone like you. With all that swagger and broodiness. And the beard and the tattoos? Pretty doesn't accurately describe you. More like, devastatingly handsome. Sexy as fuck. Those fit better. I remember walking into your place and thinking damn, he's fine as hell.”  
  
“I asked Nik if she'd brought you there because the two of you wanted a threesome,” he admits, and she swats him across the chest. “You were cute as hell with your ponytail and your little shorts and those freckles across your nose. Until you downed two glasses of scotch and went from cute to hot as fuck in the blink of an eye. I almost wanted to marry you right there and then.”  
  
“I don't know what world you're living in, but marrying someone and wanting to bend them over the kitchen table and have your way with them are not the same thing,” she teases, and it's turn to kiss her before struggling to get into a stand. “That bad, huh?”  
  
“That bad,” he confirms, not knowing where to turn his attention first: knee or shoulder. “Come on,” he says, and offers a hand. “Let's go.”  
  
“Where?” she asks, her fingers curling around his.  
  
“Clean you up. Maybe I'll even wash your back for you.”  
  
“And other places too?” she inquires hopefully.  
  
“Only if you ask nicely.”   
  
She grins.  
  
Who says romance is dead?  
  
****  
  
“I can't believe you actually talked me into this,” Tyler remarks ten minutes later, when he finds himself immersed in a bubble bath. The tub is unusually wide and long; large and deep enough to comfortably fit his six foot three frame. The water is as hot as the human body can possibly stand, and it brings almost instant relief to his throbbing muscles and joints. “I'm going to smell like fucking flowers for a week.”  
  
“Well, to be specific, you're going to smell like lavender for a week,” his wife says, as she lounges between his splayed thighs, back pressed against his chest. “Lavender is supposed to be very good for relaxation and sleep,” she continues, as she scoops up a handful of suds and blows them the length of the tub. “You know...” she nestles her head back against shoulder “...I realize I said I'd be perfectly content living with you in that old shack of yours, but I could get used to having a tub like this.”  
  
“A tiny thing like you would probably do laps in it,” he chides, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck and chuckling when she elbows him in the gut. “You realize you're freakishly short, don't you?”  
  
“Excuse you! How do you know it's not you that's freakishly tall?” she counters, giggling when he gently bites down on her shoulder.  
  
He combs his hand through her damp hair; fingers pushing through the knots. Slowly moving from her forehead all the way down through those thick, dark tresses, then pushing them over her shoulder and placing a kiss on her ear. Hands finding hers under the water, their fingers entwining.  
  
He closes his eyes, resting his head back against the cool marble tiles, allowing the hot water and the scent lingering in the air to calm him. Filled with a sense of peace and relaxation that he hasn't felt in a long time, the pain going from a throbbing, burning sensation to a dull, manageable ache. And he is stuck in that hazy place between sleep and consciousness when he feels her move against him. Arching an eyebrow she releases one of his hands in favour of wrapping her fingers around his cock.  
  
He grins. “Can I help you?”  
  
“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of how I can help you,” she confesses, that delicate hand expertly stroking him. Long and slow upwards movements that have him hard in no time. Lips pressed against her ear when he issues a low growl.  
  
“You are so good at that,” he praises, as his eyes close and his head falls back once more. His hips jerking forward when her thumb brushes against the engorged head. She is good. Way too good, in fact. The best pair of hands he's ever had on him. Always able to bring him close to the edge in record time.  
  
Sliding his hand between her legs, he presses his palm against her shaven mound and slips his middle finger inside of her. It's her turn to sigh; back of her head falling against his chest as her eyes flutter shut. His free hand moves to her left breast,cupping it gently, those callouses scraping against the hardened nipple before taking it between his thumb and forefinger and pinching lightly. Her noises are louder now; whimpering and moaning as his finger moves inside of her, his palm coming in direct contact with her clit.  
  
Her hand tightens around his cock and the strokes become harder. More forceful. Hand moving from head to base, until his hips are moving on their own accord, a mixture of guttural moans and profanities tumbling from his lips. He adds a second finger; pushing the two as deep as they can go, using them to fuck her at a steady pace until her entire body tenses and she cries out.  
  
Even in her orgasmic haze her hand continues to pleasure him. Rapid, sloppy jerks that have him coming as well; her name flowing from his mouth like a well rehearsed and favourite prayer.  
  
They settle against one another. Their breathing ragged, their bodies still trembling as their hands relax and slip out of their respective places.  
  
“Better?” she asks. “Relaxed yet?”  
  
He grins. “I'm getting there.”  
  
****  
  
Their bodies are still damp as they make love in the middle of the ornate king sized bed. His hands planted on the mattress on either side of her head, supporting his weight on his outstretched arms as he moves inside of her. Long, smooth strokes that have her wrapping her legs around his waist and her feet digging into the small of his back. Her hands roam his body. Fingers exploring his muscular arms; over the veins in his wide forearms, and along his bulging biceps and strong, powerful triceps. Up to his shoulders and then down his back. Loving the way the muscles move under her hands. He is all smooth skin and powerful physique, and her nails skim down his spine and grab at his ass, attempting to pull him deeper.  
  
He groans. Head falling forward, hair tumbling across his brow. She lifts her head to kiss him as her fingers scrap along his rib cage and her teeth lightly clamp down on his tongue.  
  
“Jesus Christ...” he breathes, and a hand leaves the mattress in favour of sliding an arm behind her back, flipping them over.  
  
His hands settling on her hips as she rides him. Slow and steady at first, allowing him to slip completely out before she sinks back down again. Repeating the movement several times as his fingers bite into her hips and he watches her; the flushed cheeks and closed eyes, the sheen of sweat on her body and her breasts bouncing with each movement. And with one hand still on her hip encouraging to move faster and harder, his other hand comes up to fondle her breasts. Twisting and pulling at the nipples until he feels those powerful inner walls beginning to tremble and contract around him. And he presses a finger to her clit, rubbing it in smooth, firm circles until she's crying out in ecstasy.  
  
As she comes down from her high, she collapses forward onto his chest, and he seizes both hips and thrusts up into her until she comes a second time. More powerful than before, causing him to reach up to clamp a hand against her mouth to muffle the scream that escapes her. He grits his teeth and keeps his pace; until his stomach starts to flutter and he feels the pressure building in his balls and the small of his back. And as he comes he buries his face in her shoulder. Inaudible noises and words and slipping from his mouth.  
  
He wraps his arms around her slender body. Holding her close as she buries her face in the hollow of his neck.  
  
He's asleep in minutes.  
  
****  
  
She hasn't had the nightmare in months. For weeks after the job in Dhaka and Tyler's near death on the bridge, she'd been badgered by vivid recollections of the event. Scared to close her eyes and actually succumb to sleep in fear of the reliving the horror. They were shockingly vivid, as if she had been transported to the very moment...the very second...that it happened. As he gunned down the last of those standing in the way of a safe crossing and struggled to make his way towards them. Bleeding profusely from bullet wounds and grazes and embedded shards of glass. The right knee shattered; the ligaments and tendons torn and muscles strained and severed, having to drag his leg behind him over the last fifty meters. It had been so close yet so far, and she, Nik, and Ovi had been filled with a sense of hope. In awe of the comeback he had made. Hoping and praying, counting down those last feet that he had to go.  
  
And then that single gunshot; the bullet puncturing the jugular vein and bringing him to stand still. Shock registering on his face, revolver dropping from his right hand, his left coming up in a vain effort to stem the stem the flow of blood.  
  
It is always in slow motion; the last thirty seconds in which he collapses to the ground and drags himself across the cement and onto the sidewalk. Nik valiantly attempting to refrain Ovi from running to Tyler's aid and ordering Esme to stay where she was. It wasn't safe; the kid who'd shot Tyler had gotten away despite her last ditch efforts, and there was no telling where he was hiding. And then her and Ovi were running together, rushing to comfort the man that lay dying in a pool of his own blood on that littered and cracked sidewalk. Feeling the blood that seeps through her clothing as she kneels down beside him; tasting her own tears as on her lips as she holds his face in her hands and begs him not to give up. To hang on just a little while longer. Help was on the way; he just needed to hang on. She tells him that she loves him. That she tried to stop feeling the things she did, but it had been impossible. That he had made her promises and they talked about plans for their future; of getting to know one another better, of seeing where things would take them.  
  
She's never reached the end of the dream. She has no idea of it ends the same as real life or if his death plays out. She is always awake by that point; crying out and bolting up right in bed, sweat coating her limbs and her stomach churning. Her brain struggling to orientate herself with her surroundings, heart hammering wildly in her chest. And when the fear settles and she realizes just where she was, she would sob: a mixture of terror and relief. For what she had seen and an ending that could have been much, much worse.  
  
Tonight is different; she can hear Tyler's voice and feel the strong, warm body beside her. His hands on her shoulders; gripping tightly and shaking her out of her near hysteria. Her first instinct is to fight; brain convincing her that there's a threat right beside her. And she grabs at his hair and directs punches to his chest and uses her knees in an attempt to push him away. But his size and strength are his advantage and he uses them, wrapping both arms around her torso to secure her arms to her sides and then effortlessly flipping her onto her stomach, Pinning her into the mattress.  
  
“It's okay...” his voice is low, soothing. As is the heat of his body against hers. His arms loosen their grip and a hand comes up to rest on her head, lips against her ear as he strokes her hair. “...calm down...it's over...it was just a dream...” and he repeats that mantra until he finally feels her body relaxing under the weight of his own. Muscles releasing and heart rate settling. “...it was just a bad dream...” he says. “I'm here. I'm right here. Just listen to my voice.”  
  
It takes several minutes for her to fully come down from the adrenaline high that had surged through her body. And he continues to hold her, assuring her that everything is fine. That he's here with her and not going anywhere. That he's alive and well and he loves her. More than he could possibly ever tell her.  
  
Eventually he rolls over onto his side, a hand tangled in her hair as she turns to face him.  
  
“You haven't had one of those in a long time,” he says, voice heavy with worry and sleep. “The bridge?”  
  
She nods, lower lip trembling.  
  
“Come here...” he pulls her into him; a hand on the back of her head as she settles her face in the hollow of his throat. Fingernails digging into his shoulders as she clings to them. “It's okay now. It was just a dream, love. Just a bad dream.”  
  
“It's almost been a year,” she whimpers, her entire body shivering despite both his body heat and the humidity that hangs heavily in the air. “Two more days.”  
  
“I know. It's probably why you had one. You're too busy thinking about it.”  
  
“It's hard not to,” she reasons. “Don't you think about it? You're the one who went through it. How do you not think about it?”  
  
“I try not to. You know I don't remember much after the kid shot me. You know how hazy things are. How I'm not sure if I am actually remembering things or if my brain is making them up and convincing me they're real.”  
  
It is both a blessing and a curse. He can remember seeing her beside him. Feeling her hands; one covering his own that clutched at the wound in his neck, the other on the back of his head. He knows that she was begging him not to give up. Assuring him that help was on the way. That all he had to do was just hang on a little while longer. And that she loved him. That she didn't regret falling in love with him that soon.  
  
After that...nothing. The next memory is of waking up in hospital room and being filled with immediate panic; ripping at the IV in his arm and attempting to tear out the breathing tube shoved down his throat. And she was by his side then as well, fighting to keep his hands from causing even more damage, attempting to calm him down in that soft, soothing voice.  
  
He'd been relieved that that was the first voice he heard. The first face he'd laid eyes on. He had expected her to be gone. The nightmare of what happened and the need to get away from it driving her away from him. That hadn’t known each other that long, and maybe the bond that they’d formed and the intimacy they had shared -both during sex and in those quiet, reflective times afterwards- wasn’t as strong as he’d thought it was.  
  
But she’d been there. Right by his side. Strong and stoic. Far braver than he could ever hope to be.  
  
“I'm starting to think you're the lucky one,” she says. “That it’s better that you don't remember.”  
  
“Did I say it back?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You told me that you loved me. On the bridge. I remember hearing you say that. Did I say it back?”  
  
“You couldn't say anything back. You were choking on your own blood.”  
  
“But did you feel it?” he has no idea why he needs to know. But it feels important. That maybe being reminded of that moment will help clear up the clutter and the confusion in his brain.  
  
“You looked at me. When I said it. You looked right at me and you tried to smile. And you squeezed my hand as hard as you could. I thought maybe that was a sign. That you were trying to say it back.”  
  
He screws his eyes shut and tries to remember; straining his mind to come up with even the smallest of details. He knows what he felt leading up to the moment he was shot. That he had counted the steps as he made his way towards her. Determined to live up to all the promises he made. Fulfill his half of the plans that they’d come up with as they lay together in that rumbled bed in that dirty Dhaka hotel room. After that, everything comes in bits and pieces. Shattered fragments that are out of order and never fall into place no matter how hard he tries to force them.  
  
“I felt it,” he says. “I know I did. I felt it when I sent you off with Ovi and Saju. When you looked at me. You looked so scared and lost and I remember thinking that I was going to do whatever I had to get to that bridge. To get to you.”  
  
She smiles against him, pressing a kiss to his throat.  
  
“I didn't want to send you away with them. But I had too. I didn't have a choice.”  
  
“I know. I hated you at that moment. I was so angry. That you were making me leave. And I was worried that was the last time I was ever going to see you. I didn't want that to be my last memory of you. That I was angry.”  
  
He remembers kissing her. A hand on the side of her face as his lips lightly brushed hers. And thinking that he could gladly go the rest of his life being able to kiss her every day.  
  
“I wouldn't leave you unless I had to.”  
  
Those had been his exact words. The final thing he had said to her before sending her off.   
  
She sniffles and yawns against him. Her body nestling even tighter against his. Listening to his heart beating in his chest, feeling his smooth skin and hard body against his. The way his hand strokes her hair and the weight of his chin rests on the top of her head. Those strong, powerful arms wrapped tightly around her.  
  
And he holds her like that until she succumbs to sleep once more.  
  
Safe. Secure. Protected.


	19. Chapter 19

He arrives at Mumbai Central Prison just shy of ten am. The weather is already unbearable; hot and sticky; sweat dampening the neck of his simple army green t-shirt, the thin fabric sticking to the small of his back. He checks in at the main office. Using the fake law enforcement credentials Nik had sent him to register as a visitor, turning in his gun and the knife that he keeps in his back pocket. 

“Long way from home,” the desk clerk comments, as he holds up the identification next to Tyler's face, verifying that the man in the photo is the same as the one who now stands in front of him. “Australia? The land down under?”

“That's what it says,” Tyler shoves the ID into his wallet and slips the latter back into the side pocket of his tan cargo pants. 

“What brings you here? All the way to Mumbai.”

“Business. I'm here to see Mahajan.”

The clerk's eyes widen; the drug lord doesn't get many visits, aside from his team of lawyers. The kid had stopped coming to visit a long time ago, and they haven't seen the man servant in at least a year. He'd been the last one to come and see the old man.

“Check the book,” Tyler nods at the thick ledger sitting on the desk. It's an old school system; pen and paper when the old and weathered computers decide they've had enough for the day. “I'm in there.”

He taps the toe of his boot against the crack and faded tiles, watching as the other man flips through the thick leather bound book, and locates the proper page; a long, thin finger trailing through every written word until he comes up with the one he wants.

“What do you want with him?” the clerk inquires. “A cop all the way from Australia?”

“Like I said, it's business. And I'm not a cop. That's not what I do.”

The man arches an eyebrow, cocks his head to the side. Unsure of what to make of the stranger across from him. Tall and broad shouldered; strong and intimidating. “What is it you do?”

A slow grin. “A lot of things.”

****

He's led to a waiting area. A long, narrow corridor with faded tiles and peeling wallpaper that reveals the original brick underneath. No air conditioning. The temperature unbearably hot. And he uses the front of his t-shirt to clear the sweat away from his face and his forehead. A young woman with a baby sits in a chair in the corner, watching him warily. He's big and scary, as far as she's concerned. A stranger in their country. And as he leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, he gives her a small smile in hopes of easing some of her discomfort. 

Several minutes tick by before the opens once again. An armed guard ordering the woman to stay where she is before giving Tyler a nod and jerking his head towards the main body of the prison. No formalities or mindless chit chat are exchanged as he is led through the central office and back out into the blazing sun. Feeling the curious eyes and hearing the chatter as he follows the guard. Sunglasses on, hiding his eyes as they survey the surroundings and the throngs of prisoners out in the yard. Always on alert. A stranger like him showing up causes a lot of speculation. And with speculation came worry. Which quickly turns into fear. If they felt threatened or spooked, there was no telling what kind of situation could explode.

“Out,” the guard orders all the visitors and prisoners currently in the visitation area. “Hurry up and get out. Move.”

He waits as guests scurry past him and the other prisoners file out, then allows himself to be led down to the very end of the room. Nothing more than a simple metal chair and metal bars separating him from the other side. And he is still standing when Mahajan is led in; heavily armed guards on either side of him, their hands on his upper arms as they guide him, handcuffs securely fastened to his wrists. Tyler is surprised. Unimpressed. Not nearly the intimidating figure that he'd been lead to believe. The years have not been kind to the old man; streaks of gray in his hair and beard, numerous pounds of weight lost. Maybe when he was younger he cut an imposing figure. But now he was nothing more than a pathetic old man who'd spend the rest of his life locked up. 

He sits only after Mahajan has done so and the guards depart; waiting and watching from the door. Several minutes pass before anyone speaks; the only sounds in the room the slow ticking of the clock and the low hum of a window air conditioner. Neither man looks away from the other, Tyler's hands clasped and resting on the ledge in front of him, Mahajan tapping his fingers against the bottom of the frame that holds the bars

“So you're the one,” Mahajan finally speaks. His tone is unimpressed. Tyler supposes he doesn't fit the old man's bill of what a mercenary should look like. He's probably younger than he expected. Not as beat up and harried as most. 

“Yeah...” he nods. “...I guess I am.”

“That stupid sonofabitch was supposed to take care of you. You shouldn't even be sitting here right now. Had he done his job properly...”

“He died helping save your son. And I should have died.”

“But here you are. Sitting in front of me. Thinking you have some right to come here and demand my presence? Looking for some kind of thank you? Some kind of respect? So you can gloat about what you've done?”

“That's far from the reason I'm here. You don't have to like me or respect me. I'm far past giving a shit about what others think of me.”

“So it's money you want then? You feel you weren't fairly compensated for the work you done. The one I hired you to do. You work for me. You don't come here in and walk in as if you own the place. As if I owe you something.”

“I don't work for you. And I don't give a shit about your money, mate. I'm here about your son.”

His eyes widen, jaw clenching. “The trouble has gotten worse? Why are you here then? Talking to me? You should be there. At my home. Protecting my son. Not here talking to me and wasting my time.”

“I've got six armed guards always watching the place. Two that follow him to school. I've been handling things. Taking care of your kid. Because apparently you don't give a shit about him enough to keep your head on straight and stay out trouble. What kind of father does that shit? Chooses the life you had over taking care of their own flesh and blood.”

“How dare you talk to me like that!” Mahajan fumes. “How dare you come and here and question my love and loyalty to my son!”

“A year ago I had to put my ass on the line to save your son. You caused that. Because you couldn't get your shit together and just be a father. So yeah. I'm questioning your love and your loyalty to your son. The fact that you have none.”

“You have a family?”

“A wife,” he confirms “And a baby. A daughter.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn't do anything to care for them? Provide for them?”

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for them. I'd lay down my life for them. No questions asked. But I wouldn't do what you do. Get rich by hurting other people. Put drugs in the hands of kids. Sit back counting my money while people around me die.”

“Are we really that different, you and I? Hmm? Do you not kill people for money? Hurt them? Is that not how I found you in the first place?”

“We're nothing alike, mate. We never will be.”

“Killing comes with your job, does it not? When you were rescuing my son, did you not have to kill people?” Mahajan challenges. 

“It's not the same thing,” Tyler insists.

“Killing is the same no matter how it is done. Or who does it. I bet you have taken far more lives than I have. You have the blood of hundreds of men on your hands. You say you kill them because they deserve it. Who are you to judge them? These people that are just trying to live by any means necessary.”

“By hurting innocent people,” Tyler argues. He keeps his tone low, unaffected. Refusing to let the man get to him. “That's the difference. I help the ones who need it and I hurt the ones who don't. They aren't innocent. They hurt people. People who are weaker than them. Who can't defend themselves. We aren't the same, mate. Not by a long shot.”

“We both have blood on our hands. You say that yours is justified. In the same way I do.”

“You put drugs into the hands of kids. You made people into addicts. You ripped families apart. I'm nothing like you.”

Mahajan smirks, leans back in his chair, eyes cold and calculated. “Did the men you kill not have families? Children? Hmm? Were there not innocent people connected to them? You sit here, thinking you're better than me. A white man who thinks he is somewhat superior because of the colour of skin. You walk in here with your God complex, judging me? Does your wife and your child know what you do?”

“My wife and my child have nothing to do with this.”

“You put them in harms way, do you not? You preach to me about my son and you do the same with your child. Do you think it would stop people? People that want to hurt you? You think it would stop them from hurting her because she is a baby? That won't matter to the people that hate you. The ones that want revenge.”

“Let's get one thing straight...” Tyler leans forward in his chair, trying to ignore how his blood runs cold at the man's words. A chill that starts at the roots of his hair and travels his entire body. “...my daughter is innocent. In the same way your son is. We are not the same. I help people. Like your son. And I bring them back to their families. Without guys like me, your son would be dead. Without guys like you, a lot of innocent people would still be alive. We are not same.”

The older man finally relents. Holding his hands up in surrender. “You say you're here for my son yet there's been no trouble. So why are you here? Hmm? Wasting my time?”

“I'm here because your son deserves a better life. One where he's not looking over his shoulder all the time. Where he's not constantly paying for his father's mistakes. He shouldn't have to live like this. Alone.”

'He has everything he could possibly want. A beautiful house to live in, food on the table, an expensive school.”

“He doesn't have a family. And that's what he wants the most. He wants a family. People who love him. Who will take care of him. Who want more for his future than this bullshit existence he has now. He has no one. All those things surrounding him, yet he's very much alone. Even you must be able to see that.”

Mahajan nods slowly, considering his words.

“My wife and I want to take him. When we leave here. We want to...”

“Take my son away from me?” he laughs. “You come here with a request like that? My only son? My blood? Hand him to you? A stranger?”

“A stranger that already laid down his life once for him. Who'd do it again. In a heartbeat.”

“For money,” he reminds Tyler. “You did it for money.”

“That's how it started out, yeah. But it became much more when you decided to fuck me. There was never any money. Not enough to afford me, anyway. That's why you had Saju try to kill me and steal him back. How'd that work out for you?”

Mahajan inhales sharply.

“I could have easily left your kid in the street. When I knew there was no money. I could have handed him right over to Asif. I had the chance. My part of ten million dollars if I just handed him over. But I didn't. I kept your son alive. And for what? This shitty fucking existence? Always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next threat? Even you must be able to see it. That he has nothing. He doesn't even have a father.”

“I'm his father!” the other man roars, and leaps to his feet. 

Tyler waves the guards off when he sees them attempt to make a move towards them. “You're not his father, mate. You're just the guy who helped make him. There's a lot more to being a father like that. Swallow your fucking pride and think about your son for once. Think about the kind of life he has compared to the one he deserves.”

“You think I can't hurt you from here? That I can't take away everything and everyone you love? That you...”

“I think you need to sit down and shut up. Don't threaten me. Or my family. Because you're not the only one who knows how to get shit done.”

The older man blinks. His chest heaving with fury. 

“Sit down,” Tyler repeats. “Or you'll see just how far I'm willing to go to protect my family.”

Mahajan sighs heavily, then reluctantly sinks back into his seat. 

“We want to take Ovi with us,” Tyler continues. “When we leave here. We want to give him a proper life. The kind of life that he deserves and he wants. You must have at least one shred of humanity left. Especially when it comes to your own son.”

“I would do anything for him. In the same way you'd do anything for your child.”

“Then do this for him. Let us take him. Let us give him a life. One where he isn't constantly looking over his shoulder in fear. He deserves that much, doesn't he? We're fathers. You and I. And don't we want the same thing? Don't we want to give our kids the world?”

The drug lord's face finally softens. “Of course. I wouldn't be a father if I didn't want that.”

“Then do the right thing,” Tyler implores. “Give us guardianship. Give us the chance to take care of the kid. To love him.”

“And you promise to take care of him? That you would lay down your life for him if need be?”

“I've already done it once. And I'd do it again, no questions asked.”

Mahajan gives a firm nod, then waves to the guards signalling that their visit is over. “I'll talk to my lawyer.”

***

TOMORROW. 1PM. ON THE BRIDGE.

It is a simple text that packs a powerful punch. 

She's been waiting for this since the moment Jason left for Dhaka. She was tense. Impatient. Tired of the way Nik seemed to be dragging her heels despite the deal they had made. Leary that perhaps her friend had never had any intention of actually helping her. Just leading her on and feeding her hope, only to never follow through. Jason had been anxious to help. He wanted something more than security detail. A chance to prove that he was far more capable of bigger and better things. The time had seemed to drag since he left; she was constantly checking her cell phone for mixed texts or emails. But in the end, he had gotten exactly what she wanted.

She hastily makes arrangements. Plotting a way out of the house in the wee hours of the morning. Sneaking the keys to the rented SUV and making her way to the airport. If all went well, she'd be in the air and on her way to Dhaka before anyone even realized she was gone. Securing the help of an old contact that could get her a last minute seat on a small charter flying out of Mumbai. It was the moment that she'd been waiting for. Longing for. When she would come face to face with the person that had nearly taken everything away from her.

In lieu of text she sends an email in return. Texts were too easily soon and she still had an email address under an account she she hasn't used in years. Detailing her plans. That she'll be in Dhaka well before noon and will meet him on the bridge. With the kid. 

She watches as Tyler steps into the courtyard. That familiar lick of desire that fills her body; the heat and the pressure that builds between her legs. It's always been that way; the powerful sexual connection between them, the lust and want and desperate need that consumes her. It was the first time in her life that a man had had that kind of effect on her. Where her breath hitched and her raced. Where a simple touch could send her body into a frenzy. Not even her ex husband had made her feel that way. As handsome and charming that he'd been at the start. It had taken time for those feelings to develop. Weeks. Even months. With Tyler it had been near instantaneous. The moment those blue eyes had watched her walk into his little shack in the outback. Those five days in that Dhaka hotel room had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Completely succumbing to a man that took his time exploring every inch of her body; unselfishly concentrating solely on her and pleasuring her in ways and to heights she never thought possible.

Walking sex. She had called him that once. And he'd just laughed, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. But it was true. That is exactly what he is. Broad shouldered and muscular and just so goddamn attractive. Even in a simple t-shirt and cargo pants. 

“How'd it go?” she asks, as she sits on the edge of the pool with her feet submersed, holding Amelia securely around the waist, occasionally dipping those tiny toes into the water. Laughing every time the baby's bright blue eyes widen when her feet make contact with the cold liquid. There's real smiles now. Wide, beaming ones that crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her father's smile. His clone, from head to toe. 

“Alright, I guess,” he pulls at the laces of his boots and toes them off, then removes his socks and rolls his pants up past the shins. “Here...” he hands her a small brown paper bag from a pharmacy he'd stopped at in Mumbai. “...for later...”

Tyler sits down alongside of her, placing his own feet in the water. Then leans over and presses a kiss to her ear. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” she smiles and kisses him. Short and sweet. “Look who it is, Millie,” she speaks to the baby in the soft, melodic tone that she seems to enjoy the most. “Who is that guy, huh? Who is that handsome man? Is that your daddy?” She notices the way her husband's entire face lights up; the smile spreading from ear to ear, his features softening. A big man with an even bigger heart. “Look at the way she looks at you. The way she smiles at you. I do all the hard work and heavy lifting and all that matters is you.”

“She's a daddy's girl. Nothing wrong with that.”

She could see him years down the road. Those hands that can -and have- inflicted so much pain and suffering on those who deserved it, braiding hair or putting it in pig tails. Maybe even indulging in playing with dolls and being a guest at tea parties. There was something both adorable and amusing at that thought; a man like Tyler Rake allowing a little girl to subject him to such things. This was a side of him that so few got to see. That she was blessed to witness. 

“Here,” he holds his hands out towards her. “Give her to me. I'm all that matters now. You're just the one who feeds her from here on out.”

“Traitor,” Esme gives her daughter a dramatic pout and places her in those large, capable hands. Watches the way he leans down to press a kiss to their daughter's cheek, that smile never leaving his face as he fixes the tiny sunhat and then lowers Amelia towards the pool, letting those tiny feet disappear beneath the surface. “She's definitely yours. She loves being outside.”

“She would have loved living in the shack,” he muses. “Out there with nothing else around.”

“With a dog and a chicken for siblings,” Esme adds with a grin.

“Yeah...” he nods. “...she would have loved bathroom chicken.”

His friend Koen lives there now. Spending the time on the repairs that needed to be, even adding on an extra room. Taking care of the chicken and the dog. He'd stepped up when Tyler had been incapacitated. . Moving in without hesitation and making sure everything was being taken care of. He would visit the hospital every so often; sitting on the edge of the bed and teasing the shit out of him for being so 'bent out of shape over a flesh wound' and talking about old times. Like their booze filled camping trips and hikes and the day he'd scared the shit out of their buddy Raka with a nonchalant plunge off a thirty meter cliff. Koen never asked for anything in return. Just thankful for a place to live and the feeling of doing something good and right.

“I would have made you keep bathroom chicken out of her room,” Esme says. “That's the last place we would need all kinds of chicken shit. And I wonder if he ate her yet. Koen. If bathroom chicken has met her demise.”

“Bite your bloody tongue. That's my child you're talking about.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I think you love bathroom chicken more than me.”

“I definitely love you more. You don't shit everywhere.”

“Well that's a hell of a standard to live up to,” she laughs, and pinches his side playfully. Opening the paper bag he'd given her, she can't help but grin. “Two tests? Are you taking one too? That's not how this works, baby.”

“Just in case the first one gets fucked up.”

“All I have to do is pee on it. It's honestly not that hard.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he reasons. “I'm kind of excited.”

“About me peeing on a stick? You have weird things you enjoy as foreplay.”

“I didn't get to be there with the first one. I didn't even know that you thought you were pregnant the first time around.”

“Well in all fairness, you had a lot on your mind. You were going through a lot. I didn't want to add something else to the plate that you had to worry about.”

He understood it. Her reason for keeping it a secret for as long as she'd had. But part of him wishes he could have known. That he could have actually been there when she took the test. 

“Well this time I get to be there,” he says. “Sounds stupid, I know. Being excited over something like that.”

“I think it sounds beautiful,” she admits, and presses a kiss to his cheek. Beard rough against her lips. And she curls an arm around his waist and uses her free hand to rub his stomach. “Tyler Rake, you big softie.”

“Easy now. Don't say that too loud. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She rests her head against his arm, feet swinging back and forth in the water. Watching as he dotes over their tiny daughter; speaking to her in unbelievably soft and sweet tones, those huge hands so tender and careful, the smile never leaving his face. “So it went okay? With Ovi's dad?”

“He was a hard nut to crack.”

“But you did? Crack him?”

He grins. “Are you seriously questioning my nut cracking skills, right now?”

“You're more of a ass kicker than a nut cracker But go off.”

“He was pretty pissed. That I had the balls to even show up to see him. I definitely was not what he expected. I don't think I fit the picture he had in his mind of the guy who rescued his kid.”

“Well, in all fairness, you are devastatingly handsome,” she muses. “So I can't fault him there.”

“He gave me a hard time. Kept insisting that we're the same. That we do the same things. Hurt people. Kill them.”

She frowns. “You know that's not true right?”

“Well it is what I do, right? I do hurt people. I do kill them. My hands aren't exactly clean.”

“What you do and what he does is entirely different. You do what you do to help people. To keep them safe. He does what he does because an evil asshole. You are nothing alike. Far from it. Don't let him get into your head. His son is alive because of you. You almost died because he's a major fuck up of a father. You are not like him at all, Tyler. Did you tell him? About us wanting to take Ovi?”

“He didn't want to hear anything about it at first. But you were right. There was an ounce of humanity left. He says he's going to talk to his lawyer. Who knows what will happen after that. But at least it's a step in the right direction, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, then falls silent. Her legs swinging back and forth, eyes riveted on the ripples in the water. She wants to tell him. About going to Dhaka. Knowing that if he'd just listen to her reasoning and consider what she needed to do to finally heal and move on, he'd agree it was a good idea. Not a great one. But acceptable. Maybe he'd even offer to come along. Just to keep an eye on her. That city was dangerous. Unpredictable. Which had been all too clear during their first foray into city limits. 

But she stays silent. The situation is under control. Jason will be there, after all. 

Besides, how much damage could one street kid do?

****

Tyler stands on the threshold of the master's en-suite bathroom; leaning against the door jamb with his arms over his chest. Watching his wife as she sits on the edge of the tub, her eyes riveted on that plastic stick across the room, as it rests on the sink ledge. She's nervous; chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip, palms continuously running along her thighs.

“How long does this take?” he inquires. “It's been like half an hour.”

“It's been a minute and half,” she replies. “Two more minutes at least. There's quicker ones you could have gotten. Those digital things that pretty much give the results right away.”

“This is the first time I've ever had to buy something like this. I'm a rookie here.”

“A rookie with extremely strong and determined swimmers, apparently,” she retorts. “Where's the baby?”

“Ovi took her downstairs. He's playing the piano for her. He swears she likes it.”

“Another male she has wrapped around her little finger. Maybe I won't have to worry about her bringing boys home. With you two around. I can just see you. Sitting on the front porch with a shot gun on your lap.”

“I was thinking more a fully automatic. Or a grenade launcher. Or maybe even a flamethrower. Maybe all three. Depending on my mood.”

“You can't keep the boys away forever. You can't keep her locked in the house.”

“You just watch me.”

She laughs at that. More nervous than amused.

“I don't know what you're so freaked out. This isn't your first rodeo.”

“It's scary,” she says. “The thought of having another human being inside of you. That relies on you for everything. I have to actually keep a tiny person alive.”

“Well you did amazing the first time,” he points out. “And considering everything else you were dealing with at the time, I'd say that makes you pretty fucking awesome.”

She smiles at him. And he shoots her a wink before wandering into the room and taking a seat on the ledge of the tub beside her. 

“I'm nervous too,” he confesses, as he takes on her hands in both of his own. Her hands are soft, impossibly small within his. “And scared.”

She looks at him. “You are?”

He nods. “Not just because this is an awful shitty time to be going through all of this. We can get through all of that. I don't doubt that for a second. I worry about being a dad.”

“You're already a dad. And you've been one for over ten years. If we count Austin.” And they do. Despite his suffering and his unfortunate passing, his son is still very much a part of their family. “And you're a great dad, Tyler. An amazing dad. So don't ever doubt that. You see the way she looks at you. The way her entire face just lights up when she hears your voice. She adores you. No one else in the world matters as much as her daddy.”

“Sorry about that by the way,” he grins. “That she loves me more than you,”

“That's harsh, Tyler. First I spend nine months getting fat and gross and puking all the time and then you go and say something like that. I do know divorce lawyers, you know.”

“You'd never get rid of me. And you weren't fat and gross by the way. You were beautiful. You always are. But even more beautiful when you were having her. Knowing that I was the one who helped but her there. That that was my baby inside of you.”

She leans into him, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “I like this side of you. The sappy one.”

“Just don't tell anyone, okay? I'd never live it down. I need people to think I'm a bad ass.”

“I don't think anyone could ever say you aren't a bad ass. You killed a man with a garden rake.”

“Two,” he corrects. “With the same garden rake. I'm just saying.”

She settles against him; head against his shoulder, her hand tightly clenched between his.

“What if it happens again?” he inquires.

“Having to kill a man with a garden rake?”

“No,” he can't help but chuckle. “Although that is always a possibility. Anything can happen. I mean Austin. And his cancer. What if that happens again?”

“The chances of that happening are slim to none.”

“But there's still a chance.”

“There's a chance we could walk out of the house tomorrow and get hit by a bus,” she gently argues. “His cancer wasn't genetic. It just happened, Tyler. It was nothing you or your ex caused. It just happened.”

“I just worry about it. I can't help it. Sometimes I'll watch Millie sleeping and think about it. What I'd do if she got sick. How I don't think I'd be able to handle it. Seeing her suffer. I'm worried I'm going to make the same mistake. Run away like I did. Because I'm a fucking coward.”

“You are many things, Tyler. But a coward is not one of them. It's fight or flight. Your flight drive was stronger than your fight. It happens.”

“But it shouldn't have happened. That's the point.”

She rubs his back; palm moving in slow, smooth, comforting circles. “Think of it this way, if things hadn't have have happened the way they did, we probably wouldn't be here right now. We probably would have never even met. You would have been on an entirely different path and our lives probably never would have connected. And that's worth something, right? You and I? Millie? What happened was horrible and you didn't deserve that. And Austin definitely didn't deserve it. But we're here. Millie and I. And that has to make up for everything else somehow right?”

“Of course it does.” If someone had have told him a year ago that he'd end up a husband and father again, he would have told them that they were insane. He had been struggling to find a way to keep on living when all he wanted to do was die. And he'd found a reason to keep on, keeping on. Something...someone...that gave him a purpose. Now he couldn't imagine his life without them. That feeling of completeness that comes with knowing you matter to someone. That they rely on you.

“You are way too hard on yourself,” she says, and tousles his hair. “Try seeing yourself through my eyes. Just once.”

“I'll try,” he promises, and she smiles and a lays a hand against his cheek, covering his lips with hers in a long, soft kiss. “I think it's time. You ready?”

“As I'll ever be, I guess. You?”

“Not really, no. But I guess we have to find out.”

“You do it. I got to do it the first time. This one is all yours.”

“That's it, put all the pressure on me,” he teases, and gives her hand one last squeeze and a kiss to the forehead before standing up and approaching the sink.

“Well?” her voice is shaky. Perhaps a mixture of both nerves and anticipation. “What does it say?”

“I'm not sure. What does two pink lines mean?”

The tears prick her eyes. Her lower lip quivers.

“It means we're having a baby.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: profanity, mention of blood and gun violence

She arrives in Dhaka shortly before ten in the morning and takes a taxi to the hustle and bustle of the downtown market area. Her escape from the Mahajan home had gone much easier than she'd anticipated; the challenging part having to somehow slip from underneath the weight of Tyler's arm in an effort to sneak out of the bed. When he did manage to rest, he was a notoriously light sleeper; awakening at the slightest of noises or the smallest hint of trouble. That morning he'd been resting heavier than normal. On his stomach with his arm draped over her, snoring louder than she'd ever heard him. And her heart had nearly leapt clear out of his chest when he stirred, mumbling incoherently but never awakening.  
  
From there on out, things had been simple. Catching the overnight guards on a joint coffee break out by the pool; laughing and chatting and paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around them. She'd been able to pinch the keys to the rental off the kitchen counter where her husband had left them the night before, along with an extra loaded Glock revolver he kept store in a lock box on a shelf in the master bedroom closet; freshly cleaned and holding a full magazine.   
  
She once again considered telling him; shaking him awake and announcing that she was heading to Dhaka. That if he wanted to come along so be it, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. His resistance would have been legendary, especially now that they knew she was indeed pregnant. And she knew his already overwhelming need to protect her would become even more so. He saw it in the same way as he did the job; she and Amelia were his priorities and responsibility and failure was simply not an option.  
  
So she let him sleep.  
  
The market is just as she remembers; sights, smells, sounds. The dirty streets and derelict buildings, the scent of diesel gas and strong coffee hanging in the air, the chatter and laughter of pedestrians and the blaring of horns and humming of engines. She stands across the street from the hotel that they had stayed at a year ago; run down and in disarray, faded paint and cracked mortar, crumbling balconies with missing railings. She can see the patio that had belonged to them; on the third floor, a heavy wool rung over over the wrought iron balcony railing and two simple plastic patio chairs tipped on their sides. Every morning they'd sit out there. Sipping strong coffee and filling their bellies with whatever Tyler had been able to grab that morning. Sometimes they'd simply people watch and make commentary on what was happening on the street below. Other mornings they'd be painstakingly surveying the crowds and sharing notes on anything and anyone that seemed even remotely suspicious.   
  
Most of the time however, they would just engage in small talk. Those little yet entirely eye opening conversations that take place between couples when they're just in the 'getting to know you' stage. Sure, they had quickly come realize what they both liked and enjoyed in bed, but they still very much needed to see if they clicked outside of a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets.  
  
Her feelings are mixed. It is both enlightening and disheartening to be back in Dhaka, where she'd fallen in love with the man she now called her husband. Where she'd been made to feel alive again; deserving of love and adoration, respect and worship. She had long ago forgotten what it had felt like to be in love; the butterflies in your stomach, the way your heart began to race when they so as much smiled at you, those jolts of electricity that passed between the two of you every time you touched or kissed.  
  
She had thought she'd never experience those again; she had a failed marriage, an abusive narcissistic ex under her belt, a job that she enjoyed and could not see herself walking away from. She had no more trust left. No faith.   
  
And then she'd walked into that shack in the Australian outback.  
  
It is bittersweet. The good memories and the horribly bad co-mingling. And she forces herself to walk away, not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She needed to keep her head on straight. She needed clear thinking and her instincts to steer her through those busy and often violent streets. And she needed to hold onto that overwhelming need to revenge. To see things through to the end of the line. Nik hadn't been able to finish things off a year ago. But she was determined to.  
  
She grabs a herbal tea in hopes of soothing her queasy stomach; nerves and anticipation not mixing well with ferocious morning sickness. She'd had to take three Dramamine tablets just to make it through the short flight. She promises herself that when this is all over, she'll go back to the things that helped her get through the first pregnancy: proper diet and sleep, a psychologically healthy way of coping with stress. If she could get through the first one despite all of the angst surrounding her, she could get through anything.  
  
She wanders the market to kill time. Talking to the vendors and browsing their wares, attempting to drive away any suspicion as to why someone like her would be in a place like that. Especially alone. She hides her eyes under the brim of a baseball cap but they are always watching. Casually observing the people around her. Some of the locals watch her intently; perhaps recognizing her face yet unable to place where and how they actually know it. And she gets friendly smiles and pleasant hellos, readily welcomed into the area.  
  
It is so easy. It always has been. Blending in in order to to garner valuable information had been her specialty when she was still on the job. Able to gain peoples' trust, casually asking all the right questions without seeming overly interested. The people in the market had taken to her. Taken to them. A young, attractive newlywed couple who'd forgone a traditional honeymoon in favour of outreach work. The premise had seemed wild and far fetched when Nik had pitched it. But it had worked.  
  
A little too well.  
  
Her cell phone vibrates in the front pocket of her shorts. Another frantic and downright furious text message sent on Tyler's behalf. He's been calling and texting non stop since he'd woken up and found out that not only she was missing, but also the keys to the rental and one of his weapons. He's worried. Pissed off. The texts a and voicemails a mixture of of him worrying about if she's okay and demanding to know where she is, and angry please for her to just call him back. She feels guilty as she stands there, staring down at the last message he'd sent. Knowing the rage that he must be in; anger and worry are powerful combination. And her fingers linger on the screen, attempting to come up with a suitable reply. She should at least tell him that she's okay. That she'll be home by night fall and he doesn't need to worry. But when the phone rings in her and his cell number pops up on the screen, she hesitates. Thumb over the green talk icon.  
  
She opts to send it to voicemail instead.  
  
***  
  
He knew something was wrong the moment he awoke. Torn from an unusually deep and peaceful sleep by the baby's shrill, incessant crying and one of the maids pounding on the door and asking if everything was okay. He hadn't had a sound sleep like that in years; his senses and instincts always running on high.  
  
Esme would never leave the baby to cry; believing that you could never spoil a child, especially an infant, with too much attention and cuddles. So when he'd bolted up in bed and saw that her place beside him was empty, he lost it. A combination of rage and worry driving him through the roof. Attempting to stay calm for his daughter that so desperately needed him and failing miserably; relinquishing all care to the now visibly frazzled nanny.   
  
His brain immediately switches to auto pilot; propelling him through the room, searching for clues as to where she's wandered off to. Her purse is missing. The pyjamas she'd worn to bed discarded in the hamper in the en-suite bathroom. And then he sees it: the closet door ajar. He knows. He just knows. Storming across the room and throwing the door open and grabbing the lock box on the shelf.  
  
It's empty. The lock picked.  
  
His first reaction is absolute rage. At her, at the guards for completely fucking up and being so oblivious to what was going around them that they didn't even her sneak out. How does someone get away that fast? Stealing both a gun and a car without anyone noticing? And he's pissed that she won't return any of his calls or texts. Rage and frustration growing with each passing second.  
  
Worry comes next. That maybe the first anniversary of his near death experience has pushed her over the edge. And it's then that he begins to slowly piece if all together: the freak out that she'd had back home when she'd seen Farhad's picture. Her incessant, almost obsessive need for revenge. How she'd talked about wanting to go back to the bridge. The one place she felt as if she could finally let go of the past and move on.  
  
He calls the one person he knows can help.  
  
“Where the fuck is my wife, Nik?” he doesn't even give her a chance to say hello of give her trademark 'talk to me'.  
  
“Your wife? What are you talking about? What...?”  
  
“I woke up and she was gone. You were worried that I'd be the one taking off? My wife is missing, Nik. She's gone. And she stole my gun and my car and I have no fucking clue where she is.”  
  
Silence from the other end.  
  
“Don't even try and bullshit me, Nik. I know that you know. There's no way she thought of this all on her own and the only other person she trusts other than me, is you. Where is she?”  
  
“I honestly never thought it would come to this,” she admits. “I thought she'd just move on. Let it go.”  
  
“What are you talking about? What...?”  
  
“She wanted me to find the kid that shot you. Farhad. She wanted me to track him down and arrange a meeting with him. At first I went along with it...”  
  
“What the fuck, Nik...” he closes his eyes and releasing a long, shaky sigh. “Why? Why the hell would you agree to that?”  
  
“I changed my mind. I started dragging my heels. Making excuses. Hoping she'd just let it go.”  
  
“Well obviously she hasn't. And she's obviously got someone else helping her.”  
  
“I think it's Jason. He asked for some personal time. I became suspicious and had Yaz track his cell . It says he's somewhere in Bangladesh. We have no idea of his exact location.”  
  
There's the rage again. Accompanied by so much more. Worry. Frustration. The burn of bile in his throat.  
  
“Tyler?”  
  
“I need to you to get me a flight to Dhaka. Right now.”  
  
“Tyler, I don't think...”  
  
“I don't give a shit what you think. I don't care what strings you have to pull or how many asses you have to kiss. Get me a flight.”  
  
“I need a little time. I...”  
  
'Now Nik,” he orders, and disconnects the call.  
  
****  
  
“Hey, I remember you!” a cheerful voice calls from across the street. “The wife!”  
  
Esme is surprised to see him after all this time, still tucked away on a small side street away from the hustle and bustle of the main market. The vendor that that sold Tyler the bracelet that she'd wandered away to admire. A simple piece of jewellery becoming the catalyst for so much more.  
  
“I'm surprised you even remember me,” she says. “What with wearing a hat and all.”  
  
“I never forget a pretty face. Or such a sweet smile. It's been a long time, friend.”  
  
“A whole year,” she confirms, returning the hug that he offers. “You've been well?”  
  
“I have. Things have been busy, busy. You still have the bracelet?” he nods down at her left wrist, a prideful smile spreading from ear to ear. “Looks as good as new!”  
  
“The clasp broke and my husband fixed it for me.”  
  
“Ahhh...the husband...nice guy..very tall...very strong...where is he? He here?”  
  
“Off doing his own thing,” she lies, and immediately feels guilty for it. “We have a baby now. A little girl. Amelia,” she produces her cell phone from the pocket on her shorts, once again ignoring the dozens of text messages that she's received in the past ten minutes alone. Instead, she brings up a photo on the phone and holds it out to out to him. Their first ever family picture; Amelia a mere ten days old, in her father's arm in a white eyelet sundress, the three of them sitting in the sand. Barefoot. Tanned. Smiling.  
  
It seems like a lifetime ago.  
  
“She's beautiful!” he gushes. “Like her mother. But definitely looks like her father. How have you been? Good? Everyone is fine? You just disappeared last year. Out of thin air. I just stopped seeing you one day. We had some trouble here. Right after you left. Between those drug people that we talked about last time you were here. And some white fellow. There was a big shoot out out on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Did you hear about it?”  
  
“I heard a few things,” she says. Not feeling the need to tell him that she'd been right in the damn middle of it. “Do you still have your ear to the ground? Is there anything new going on?”  
  
“Trouble,” he throws up his hands in exasperation. “Always trouble.”  
  
She browses his various items as she speaks. “What kind?”  
  
“Some white fellow is in town. Not your white fellow, though. He's been asking a lot of questions. Wanting to know about one of the street kids.”  
  
Jason.  
  
“I thought maybe he was here to cause trouble. Or take the kid away. But they already seemed to know each other. Like they weren't strangers when they met. They were on a first name basis.”  
  
She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don't think this white guy was just playing nice to get something he wanted?”  
  
“Perhaps. But it didn't seem that way. I'm very good at reading people. And I could read him well. They knew each other. No doubt in my mind. Very casual when they spoke. Not angry. Or in a hurry. Just like old friends.”  
  
Her stomach clenches. And she has to force the vomit down.  
  
“Why you ask?”  
  
She manages a smile. “Just curious. Is there anything else? Did you see anything? Hear what they were talking about?”  
  
“Just that they left together. Yesterday. From the hotel up the street. The one you stayed at last year. I never saw them again. You know them?”  
  
“The white fellow is a colleague of mine. Or at least I thought he was.”  
  
She selects a child's size bracelet for the baby and produces her wallet from her bag; removing two twenties and holding them out in offering. Too much money for the jewellery, yet not enough for the information he'd given her.  
  
That was invaluable.   
  
“Thank you,” she says, as she drops the wallet and bracelet into her bag. “I honestly can't thank you enough. I have to go. There's some things I need to do.”  
  
“It was nice seeing you!” he calls after her. “Tell your husband to stop by. Nice guy he is!”  
  
Esme gives a small wave in farewell, then disappears into the crowd.

****  
  
  
The hotel manager gives her and extra key with little more than twenty bucks and a brief description of who she is looking for. And she waits outside of the door, straining her ears for any kind of life inside. The creak of footsteps on the rickety, bowed floor, the sound of the shower running through this ancient pipes.  
  
Silence.  
  
She lets herself into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. In case a quick getaway is needed and there's no fumbling with knobs and hinges. The room is tiny; much smaller than the one that she and Tyler had shared a year ago in this very building. Sunlight streams through the window, highlighting the particles of dust that hang and float in the air. Like the rest of the hotel's rooms and the building itself, it is a complete dive: the hardwood floors scuffed and decaying, various stains marring the walls, water marks on the once white stucco ceiling; crude patches of plaster covering where work had been done to fix a leak.   
  
Like the room she'd stayed in, the linens on the bed are fresh and new. A crisp white that makes the damage and filth around it even more noticeable.  
  
She snoops. Going through cupboards in the tiny kitchenette. Rummaging through silverware drawers, cupboards full of chipped mugs and plates. Not knowing exactly what is she's looking for, but letting her logic and instincts guide her; the old aspects of the job quickly returning and filling her with much needed confidence and courage. There's a coffee cup in the sink; water and soon to dissolved dish soap filling it to the brim, a sponge floating in the midst.   
  
He's been gone a while.  
  
She moves into the combined bedroom and living area next. Leafing through pamphlets, two days worth of newspapers, and discarded sheets of writing paper. Still nothing. Placing her hands on her hips she takes a step back to get a look at the room. It is surprisingly tidy considering the actual state of the building. The patio door has been left open a crack; allowing the dirt and debris from the busy street below to trickle into the room. The air is hot and heavy. Suffocating. And the sweat has already begun to gather at her hairline and across her brow.  
  
The bed is made, sheets pulled tight, and she moves towards it. Pausing long enough to pull open the drawers on the nightstand. Empty. Frowning, she moves along. Running her hand along the top of the sheet in hopes of feeling something hidden underneath them. Then drops to her knees and slides her hand in between the mattress and the box spring; blindly feeling her way along the smooth surface until her fingers come in contact with something smooth.  
  
It's a file folder. Brand new. The colour still fresh and vibrant, the corners unbent and still sharp. And she perches herself on the edge of the bed, preparing herself for what she may find inside. It could be nothing; just some paperwork that included sensitive information and names that preying eyes weren't privy too.   
  
Photographs. Some black in white. Others in colour. The bile rises in her throat once again and the nausea kicks into high gear. Her heart pounds within her chest; hands shaking, the sweat trickling down now.   
  
Tyler. Her. Their baby. Dating as far back to his release from the hospital, when Esme was still pregnant and they'd been struggling to keep things together but were optimistic about the future. One of the moment they were leaving the medical facility with their three day old infant. There's more. So many more. Outside of their apartment, on the street, at the beach. Snapshots of private and personal moments. Where they're smiling and laughing and completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching them.  
  
Her cell phone rings and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.  
  
Nik.  
  
She would have just let it go to voicemail. Ignoring it and the text messages that would start pouring in. But she needs to tell someone. Anyone.  
  
“Where the hell are you?” Nik hisses, before Esme even has a chance to offer a greeting.  
  
“I'm in Dhaka.”  
  
“What is wrong with you? All hell is breaking loose. Why would you do this? I told you to just drop it. To let it go.”  
  
“You said you would help me. Where are you, Nik? Why didn't you follow through? You promised you'd help.”  
  
“I was hoping you'd change your mind. This is insane. You're insane. What...?”  
  
“I'm in Jason's room,” she announces.  
  
“Excuse me? What? What the hell are you doing in there? Are you...?”  
  
“No. I'm not having an affair. It's not what you think. I sent Jason to Dhaka. To find out more about that kid Fahrad. Only he already knows him. He's in on it, Nik. All the bullshit that's been happening to Ovi. All the threats, all the letters, all the dead animals. He's involved in it. Somehow.”  
  
“You're crazy. I'm sending Yaz to come and get you and Tyler.”  
  
“Tyler? What...?”  
  
“He left for Dhaka four hours ago. He's freaking out, Esme. He's pissed and he's worried and he's on his way to you. I had to tell him. I had to. He's your husband. The father of your child. He loves you. And he has a right to know what the hell is going on and if you're okay.”  
  
“There's pictures,” she says. “A whole folder of them. Of Tyler and I. And of the baby. Taken back in Australia. As far back as when he was still in the hospital.”  
  
“What are you talking about? Esme...did you break into his hotel room? What the hell are you doing? You need to get out of there. Before he comes back. Just get the hell out of there and don't look back.”  
  
“I've gotta go, Nik.”  
  
“Esme, listen to me. Just get out of there and go somewhere safe. In public. Tell Tyler where you are and he'll find you. Don't make this any worse than it has to be.”  
  
“I've got to,” she insists, and disconnecting the call, drops both her cell and the folder into her bag.   
  
****  
  
She returns the key and gives the manager another ten for his troubles. He's grateful; business has been slow and the owner is two weeks late with his pay.  
  
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” he curiously inquires, and she smiles and slips her sunglasses onto her face.  
  
“More than I expected to.”

****  
  
Her stomach churns. The sweat comes in rivers. Yet she violently shivers as she steps out onto the busy street. Head down to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. Keeping a casual pace, wanting to avoid drawing any suspicious towards her.  
  
She's half a block from the main part of the market when it happens. A hand roughly snatching her by the top of the arm and yanking her into the alley. A second hand coming down over her mouth to stifle the startled yelp. Someone big and strong using their power to pin her up against the brick wall.  
  
“Don't fucking bite me.”  
  
The voice is low. Savage almost. Accompanied by furious blue eyes. And instead of sinking her teeth into the flesh of his palm, she shakes her head vigorously to get him to release his grip.  
  
“Tyler, what the hell?! You scared the shit out me!”  
  
“I scared the shit out of you? That's fucking rich. What the hell are you doing here? I wake up and you're gone and I find out you're here? In Dhaka? What the fuck?”  
  
“I told you I needed to come back here,” she feebly attempts an explanation. He's too livid; nothing will get through to him when he's in this kind of state. “I told you and you refused to listen.”  
  
“Because I thought it was fucking insane. But if you'd just asked me to come with you, I would have. You know that. What the fuck, Esme? Why were you in the hotel?”  
  
“You've been following me?”  
  
“Since the market. Since you talked to that vendor from last year. He's the one who told me you were looking for some colleague of yours.”  
  
“I broke into Jason's room,” she admits.  
  
“What the...”  
  
“He isn't who he says he is, Tyler. He isn't who anyone thinks he is. He even fooled Nik.”  
  
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“He's one of them. One of Asif's people. And I know this sounds insane and I would probably think so too if I just hadn't gone through quite possibly the most messed up year in my entire life.”  
  
“Considering the shit I've seen and done, nothing is crazy any more.”  
  
“The vendor told me that he saw Jason and that Fahrad kid together. Which would make sense at first because I'm the one who told him to come here and track him down. But he said they acted as if they knew each other. And that they left together. So I decided to go to the hotel and...”  
  
“Commit break and enter,” he finishes for her.  
  
“Well technically it wasn't B and E because I had a key. But I found these...” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the file folder. “Pictures. Of us. Of Millie. Going back to when you were still in the hospital. This is fucked, Tyler. He's fucked.”  
  
He takes the folder from her and flips through it. She sees the way his jaw clenches and the way the vein in his throat begins to throb, making that thick, jagged scar even more noticeable. Those blue eyes growing darker with each photo.  
  
“What are we going to do?” she asks.  
  
“We're going to the bridge,” he tucks the folder back into her bag. “We're going to give him what he wants.”  
  
“Tyler...no...we can't...you can't.”  
  
“Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.”  
  
She nods. “With my life.”  
  
He takes hold of her hand, pulling her out onto the sidewalk. “Let's go.”  
  
****  
  
“I've done all that I can,” Nik announces. “Pulled every string and called in every favour I could. I can have the bridge closed for twenty minutes. That's it.”  
  
“I won't need that long,” Tyler informs her, cell phone pressed to his ear as he and Esme sit in a stolen car on the west side of the bridge. It's all coming together now: alarmingly vivid recollections of the last time he'd been there.  
  
The sights and the sounds; boots crunching against pavement as he stepped over the sea of bodies that Saju had already collected on his own. The rapid pops of gunfire further down the bridge, terrified bystanders fleeing from the area, the moans of those that lay dying in the roadway. He'd already been injured; shrapnel from bullets, shards of glass embedded in his skin, combining with the wounds that he'd suffered the day before. Shoulder in agony; every movement causing pain like a white hot poker to shoot from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. He'd been vaguely aware of the fact he was bleeding; remembering the way it softly trickled down the left side of his face and both arms. He was weary; panting and out of breath.  
  
But he kept going. With each bullet he fired and each life he took, he counted down the steps...the seconds...until freedom. Until he'd see her again. Thinking of the plans they'd made while tangled up in bed, naked and sweaty bodies pressed up against one another. His fingers tangled in her hair and her head resting on his chest, their voices sleepy as they talked about all the things they would do as they got to know each other in all the ways that didn't involve sex. Not that the sex wasn't great. It was incredible. But there'd been so much more to discover about one another and he'd been looking forward to it. They'd travel; that was their final decision. Taking some of the money they'd be paid and taking nothing more than their passports and a few change of clothes and just seeing where they'd end up. Colorado was first on the list. He wanted to see the mountains. Where she lived. Maybe even meet her family.   
  
And that..along with seeing Ovi's safe return home...had been what had kept him going. Despite the blood and the pain and the mounting injuries. The thought that someone was waiting for him on the other side of that bridge.  
  
“Don't kill him,” Nik implores.  
  
“I will if I have to.” He is expecting to have to make the decision. Whether to take the younger man's life or just beating him within inches of his demise and then letting him live.   
  
“If you can find cover afterwards, I'll send Yaz to get you. An hour. Two at the most.”  
  
“We'll manage,” he says.  
  
“Be careful, Tyler. I know you're angry. I know you want revenge.”  
  
He's not sure if she means against Jason or the kid who'd nearly taken his life. He choose the former. “He put my wife in danger, Nik. Who knows what he was going to do to her once he got a hold of her. It wouldn't have been good. You and I both know that.”  
  
“You don't know how many other people are involved in this. He can't be working alone. It's too much work for just one person. Don't let your guard down. Make sure you come back in one piece. Both of you.”  
  
He disconnects the call and slips his phone into the pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. Reaching for Esme's bag that sits at her feet, he takes out the Glock; removing the magazine and one in the chamber.  
  
“Are you sure this is going to work?” she nervously inquires.  
  
“It'll work,” he assures her, and drops the gun back into the satchel before placing it in her lap.  
  
“I wasn't going to kill him, you know. That kid. Scare him. But not kill him.”  
  
He wants to believe her. But he knows the power of revenge. How loving something and someone so much can cloud your judgment. There was a time where he wanted what she did: Farhad lying cold and dead in the street. But with the physical healing came some mental repair as well. Revenge only dragged you down. Hardened you. Made you just as bad as the person who caused your harm. You'd never be able to fully go on with your life and enjoy your future with that kind of baggage weighing you down.  
  
“I'm sorry,” she's staring out the window as she talks; voice low, eyes glassy. No doubt filled with her own memories of the last time they'd been there. “I know you're pissed.”  
  
He snorts. “You think just a little bit?”  
  
  
“I know this isn't where you want to be. In Dhaka. Back on this bridge.”  
  
“You really think that that's what I'm upset about? That I had to come back here?” he shakes his head incredulously, and placing his elbow on the window ledge, places the side of his head in his palm and closes his eyes. His head feels as if will explode. So many emotions. All of them too powerful and all consuming. And the memories...come back with the force of a tsunami. “How can you know me so well one minute and then know fuck all the next?”  
  
She shifts uncomfortably beside him, knee brushing up against his, her hands nervously twisting at the strap on her bag.  
  
He cracks open an eye and casts a sidelong glance at her. This woman that he was wildly and crazily head over heels for. Who had walked into his life and filled the enormous hole inside of him in the way no amount of drugs, pills, and self loathing could ever do. Who had so willingly and unselfishly given up her life in order to improve his. Who'd give him a child. Two now, if you considered the one currently growing inside of her. He lays a hand on her thigh; stilling the anxious twitches. Then closes his eyes once more.  
  
“That's not why I'm pissed,” he says. “I'm not pissed I had to come here. I'm pissed that you did what you did. You were the one that was worried about me sneaking off. I never thought you'd be the one doing it. All you had to do was tell me. I would have given you a hard time about it, but I would have come here with you. But you didn't give me that chance, did you.”  
  
“I thought it would easier just to do it on my own,” she confesses. “I didn't want to put this on you.”  
  
“You're not putting anything on me. The second we put rings on each other's fingers, we said we'd bear the weight of each other's burdens. That we wouldn't have to deal with things alone. And the fact you just went ahead and left...”  
  
“I'm sorry,” he can hear the tears in her voice. Can see the image in his head: those dark eyes filling to the brim, the way her lower lip always trembles. Even when she's crying she's beautiful.  
  
“And you just didn't leave me. You left the baby. My baby. And she needs her mother. What if you'd never come home? She'd spent the rest of her life wondering about you and I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make sure she never forgets you. And what about the other baby? The one that's inside of you right now. Did you even stop to think about them? What could have happened? Not just to you but that baby too? You didn't make these kids on your own. They're mine too. You're not the only one that loves them and would die for them.”  
  
“I know...” her voice cracks, and he can feel her hand as it settles on top of his. And he laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “I know you hate me right now.”  
  
“I could never hate you. Ever. There's times where you piss me off and I don't like you very much. But I could never hate you. I love you too much. With everything I am. With everything I have.”  
  
She raises their hands to her lips and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you. I don't think you'll ever realize how much. And I am sorry. I didn't do this to hurt you. Or make you mad. I did it so that I could finally move on. Because it's been so hard...so fucking hard.”  
  
She cries in earnest now, and he opens his eyes and reaches across the car; a hand on the back of her head as he pulls her into him. Her face tucking into the hallow of his throat. His face in her hair as he takes in the scent in that lingers on those dark tresses.  
  
“It's time to go,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple.  
  
“Tell me it's going to be okay.”  
  
“It's going to be okay,” he promises, and places a kiss to her forehead. “Trust me.”  
  
“I do,” she assures him and then gives her bravest smile as she pushes his hair off his forehead. “I'd sort of miss you if you weren't around.”  
  
“I'd sort of miss you too. Even if you do stupid shit sometimes.”  
  
She kisses him. Her lips soft and warm against his. Then pulls away and opening the car door, slings her bag over her shoulder and steps out.  
  
All he can do is sit there and watch her walk away.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of blood and gun violence

She estimates the exact spot.

The sidewalks and roadway have been cleaned multiple times in the course of a year and many rains had fallen. Yet there remains several dark stains that mar the cement: a slight possibility of being the remnants of human being. There had been so much. More than she had ever seen in her entire time of the or during her postings overseas. She can still smell it. Feel its smooth texture as it seeped through her fingers and clothes. And she could still her that unmistakable gurgle; the choking and the sputtering. The sounds that accompanied someone drowning in their own blood.

She places her palms on the cold metal railing and stares out at the Buriganga. Watching the way the sunlight glitters on the rippling surface and the way the boats -both commercial and personal- effortless glide through the water. She had thought her reaction would be different. That she would be hit with a tsunami of suppressed rage, trauma, and bitterness that would take her breath away and bring her to her knees. But instead there's peace. A sense of calm that spreads from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Realization surging through her, like a warm, cozy blanket being draped across her shoulders. Perhaps it is closure. Being able to stand there a year and realize that they had made it. He had made it. The initial horror finally behind them; the long gruelling months of healing and rehab now a thing of the past. All that lay ahead of them now was the present. And the future. That last page of a hellish book finally being turned.

“Sorry we're late.”

She turns to face him. Jason has gone to the extra mile to make things more believable; a dirty Farhad by his side, a hand firmly grasping the young man's arm, Fahrad's hands trussed into front of him with plastic zip ties. Her initial instinct is to confront Jason right away! To hell with the kid! She wants to throw the photographs in his face and punch him in the throat and kick him when he's done. Keep kicking him. Until he's begging her to stop. He seems so damn proud of himself. A cocky smile plastered across his face, as if presenting her with the kid is deserving of hero worship and praise. She wants to laugh at him. To call him a stupid sonofabitch and let him know he's not going to get out of there unscathed. It is way too late for that. There's things he has to answer for and she's going to make sure that happens.

Instead she smiles. Hoping it doesn't look as phony as it feels.

“You arranged this?” Jason asks her, as he nods towards the barricades that have been set up at either end of the bridge.

“I had help. A friend that owed me.”

“Must be a hell of a friend. Going through all that trouble. Well,here's your chance...” he uses a shoulder to shove Fahrad towards her. The kid is confused; wild eyed in a mix of terror and nerves. Apparently this wasn't what was planned. Fahrad just as much being thrown to the wolves as she is. He's not as confident now. The minions that follow him around are nowhere in sight. He's unarmed. There's no Asif to impress. And he's now reduced to a frightened boy scared of his own shadow.

“You can go,” Esme says to Jason. “I don't need you now.”

“There's no way I'm leaving you alone with him. Who knows what's he capable of. If he has buddies just watching and waiting to jump in he gets in trouble.”

“Then wait over there,” she jerks her head to the left. “This kid and I need to have a chat.”

He relents; holding his hands up in surrender and then moving down the bridge. Until he's several feet away, leaning back against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes focused on his feet. For once he isn't wearing a suit jacket; the Dhaka heat and humidity too much to bear. Instead he wears a simple pair of beige linen pants and a burgundy golf shirt.

She doesn't think he's armed. No holster on the hip or attached to the thighs and no discernible bulge at the back of his pants.

“Do you remember me?” she asks Fahrad. “From a year ago? You and I stood on this very bridge. About fifty meters apart. You looked right at me.”

He nods.

“I'm not here to kill you,” her voice is low, barely above a whisper. “And I need you to listen very carefully to me, okay? This isn't about you. It was. But this is about him,” she casually nods over her shoulder in Jason's direction. “I know that you're working together. That you know each other. He told you that I sent him here? To find you?”

Another nod.

“I was going to come here and put a bullet in your brain,” she admits. “But then I realized that that changes nothing. It doesn't erase what happened. It would only put an even heavier weight on my heart. But I can't forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Do you understand what I'm saying? At least blink if you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth.”

“I understand.”

“I need you to help me. Can you do that? I promise you that you'll make it out of here. Nothing will happen to you. I just need you to play along with whatever I say or do. I have a gun in my bag...”

Fahrad blinks; shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“It isn't loaded, but he doesn't realize that. I need you trust me and just go with it. You do that and you walk out of here. If you don't and you try something funny, there is someone that won't be as merciful as I am. He will kill you. In a heartbeat. You cooperate, you live ? Got it?”

“Yes,” he issues a huge sigh. Of relief? Bad nerves? She can't completely tell.

“If I say the name Tyler Rake, do you know who that is?” her voice is louder, so Jason can overhear them.

“I do,” Fahrad confirms. “He's the one that got the kid. That embarrassed Asif.”

“He's also the one that you shot. In the throat. And nearly killed. My name is Esme. Esme Rake. Tyler is my husband. Now do you know why I'm here?”

“I think so.”

“A year ago, you almost took everything away from me. I'd just met the love of my life. Totally and completely unexpected. You know the saying, love comes when you least expect it? That's what happened to me. And no sooner did I meet him, I almost lost him. I was here. Do you remember? After you shot him, you looked right at me. While I was down there on the sidewalk begging him to stay alive. Begging him to just hang on a little while longer. Telling him I loved him. He was dying. In my arms. And you stood there and you smirked at me. Do you remember that?”

The tears threaten. The wound is so raw and so fresh. Stripping away that blanket of peace that she had been feeling just minutes before. Those same feelings of horror and paralyzing fear returning; the way her body had seemed to switch to autopilot and act on its own accord while hysteria took over every other part of her. Up until that moment a year ago, she'd learned to harness those emotions. She'd learned long ago how to bottle them up and prevent them from over flowing. There was simply no room for fear when you were in the desert, fighting for your life, or when faced with dire consequences and decisions while on the job. There were times she'd felt sorry for someone; moved by families' stories and pleas for help, by the gratefulness show by those who were rescued. But she kept it pushed down deep inside. 

Where wounds linger and fester the longest.

That day on the bridge, she'd been stripped down to a shell of herself. A once confident, fearless, and independent woman reduced to a pathetic, weak, and hysterical little girl.

That was the almost hardest thing to accept. Tyler may not have died that day. But a huge part of her did.

“I was holding him while he was dying,” she continues. “Have you ever seen something like that? Have you ever had to sit back and watch the person you love more than anything in the world struggling to stay alive? And you just looked at me. And smirked. Like you felt nothing. Is that what it was? You felt nothing ? Taking his life was some kind of badge of honour, wasn't it. His life was a trophy. A way of impressing Asif.”

Farhad nods.

“Did you really feel nothing? When you looked at me, did you really not feel anything at all? Because you weren't just watching one person dying. You were watching two.”

“I felt nothing,” he admits, and the calmness and the finality in his voice sends a chill down his voice. “He deserved to die. For what he did. Humiliating Asif like that. Humiliating me. He deserved to die. And he should have died.”

“But he didn't, did he. He didn't die. Because you completely underestimated him. Two weeks before, he would have just let it happen. He wanted to die himself and was looking for a way for it to play out. But suddenly he had something to live for. A future he was looking forward to. And that's why he held on. That's why you failed. That's a bitter pill to swallow, isn't it? That you failed not once, but twice.”

She can tell he's not sure how to react. He's trying to figure out if what she's saying is the truth or just part of the game they're playing. Truth be told, it's both. A way of allowing Jason to think there's nothing out of the ordinary, and a way of her bearing her soul. This kid is her confessional. Whether he realizes it or not.

“You almost took everything away from me. And now it's time for me take everything away from you.”

The gun is light in her hand; magazine long discarded. Yet part of her wishes that that one bullet still remained in the chamber. The rage and the sadness so strong and consuming that she would have had no problem pulling the trigger.

It is placed underneath Fahrad's chin; a kill shot that she'd learned from Nik. One centimetre to the left and she was hitting the femoral artery and he'd be left to die an excruciating death as he bled out on the sidewalk. Straight up and back towards the throat, his demise would be instantaneous. Painless. Part of her said that that was too good for him. After everything he'd done...everything he had put them through...he deserved as much suffering as possible. But the other part...the human and rational part...reminded her that this was just a kid. One that had grown up in poverty and subjected to neglect and inhumane living conditions. And the need to impress Asif directly came from his upbringing. Or lack thereof.

There's trust in his eyes. Trust that she probably didn't deserve. And for a brief moment she sees his own glitter of humanity. That if given the chance to thrive, would lead him to making better choices. To wanting more for himself.

“Okay...that's enough...” Jason steps in now, and she's finally able to get a good look at him. Determining that he is unarmed and will no doubt use the gun that she had on her to take his shot. That had been the plan; let him think he had the upper hand, and then totally turn the tables. “...there's no need for this...you said your piece...leave the kid alone...”

'She's right,” Farhad speaks up. Fuelling the fire. “I do deserve it. I feel nothing. I felt nothing when I shot him and I feel nothing, listening to her sad story. Are you going to cry, lady? Are you going to break down in tears over what I did? Because I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

She presses the gun further into his chin. The truth of the words sting; he is probably telling the truth. He had felt nothing. And feels nothing at this very moment.

“You shut your goddamn mouth,” Jason orders, and then turns to Esme. Voice quiet, his smile comforting. “The kid isn't going to die today. Now give me the gun..”

She puts up some light resistance, then reluctantly hands it over. She remains calm. Stoned face. Yet deep within her chest, her heart hammers wildly.

*****

“You were right you know,” he says, as he paces back in forth in front of her. “When you said that Tyler staying in a different place when you got here was a mistake. It would have made you a much easier target. You would have been all alone in that house with no one to protect you. Do you really think the armed guards would have been able to do it? They couldn't even stop you from leaving the place this morning. You would have been a sitting duck. Which would have made things way too simple. Which isn't the way we like to do things.”

“Who is 'we' Jason? I saw the pictures. The ones under your mattress in your hotel room.”

“Why am I not surprised you went there. I had a feeling you would. I made sure that people saw Farhad and I together. I knew they wouldn't keep their mouths shut. “

“I had nothing to do with this,” Farhad pipes up. “He gave me money. Said he needed me to meet with someone. To pretend like we were friends in the market. But I had nothing to do with this. What is wrong with you, man? She's a woman. Why would you do this?”

He ignores the kid. “I knew you would head there, Esme. You can take the girl out of the job, but not the job out of the girl. You're clever. Way more clever than you give yourself credit for. Old habits die hard and I knew once you thought something up, you wouldn't resist just jumping right back into the game.”

“Just how much of this is your idea?” she inquires. “The threats to Ovi? The letters? The phone calls? The dead animals on his doorstep?”

“There were other people for those jobs. There's a lot of us. Hiding in plain sight. Where you least expect it. My job was a little bit harder. Because I had to fool Nik first. It wasn't easy, you know. Getting one over on her. But my people have people and they were able to make me look real good on paper. So good she couldn't resist. After that I just had to wait. Just sit back until news got to Tyler that Ovi was in trouble. We all know the bond he has with that boy. We knew he wouldn't be able to keep away.”

“So why not take your shot? All the chances you had within the past two weeks to take him down. Why didn't you do it?”

“Oh come on,” he chuckles. “You're a smart girl. You know how these games are played. We had to get inside his head first. We had to stir the pot, so to speak. Remember when you said that the bad guys would strike where they know would hurt him the most? Well that's you. You're the one thing in this world that he loves. The person that came along and rescued him and gave him another chance. So what better way to get to him then going through you?”

“This is crazy,” Farhad frets. “Don't do this. She's a woman. Just let her go. There's no reason to do this.”

“Now I know what you're going to say,” Jason continues. “You're going to say that your little girl is the one thing that he loves most in this world. Even more than he loves you. But even we won't stoop that low. A baby is completely off limits. After all, what has she done to deserve something bad happening to her? It's not her fault who her father is.”

“You're insane,” Esme informs him, stoic despite the anxiety and the nausea surging through her. “You'll never get away with this. Nik knows. She knows you're here and that I'm the one that asked you to come here. Anything happens to me, she will know it was you. And there will be nowhere you can hide. She will find you. And Tyler will find you. And you'll be praying it's Nik that finds you first.”

“That's a bridge I'll cross when I get to it. Bridge? Get it.” he laughs. “How does it feel. Esme? To be here. To be in the spot where your husband nearly died. Where he should have died. How does it feel? Hurts like hell, doesn't it. Reliving it all. It's kind of ironic that you'll be the one that ends up dying here, don't you think? Alone. With no one to comfort you like you did with him.”

“I think you're fucking crazy,” she declares. “I think you're certifiably insane and that you're not thinking things through. You won't get away. There will be nowhere you can hide. He has found people bigger and better than you and they didn't live to tell about it. So how does that make you feel?”

“See, that's what I like about you. How feisty you are. I can see why he fell in love with you. I definitely don't blame him for that. I personally think you're too good for him, but that's just my humble opinion. Do you remember how you said that the bad guys would try and break him ? Make him vulnerable? That's when I knew you were smarter than you looked. That you aren't just a pretty face. So tell me...” he calmly presses the barrel of the gun to her forehead. “...how does it feel to know that you're his weakness? That you're possibly the only person that can effectively bring Tyler Rake down? Doesn't it give you some sense of power? Knowing how easy it is going to be to destroy him? There has to be some kind of perverse pleasure in that.”

“You don't want to do this, Jason. This is the last thing you want to. It won't end well for you. You know that.”

“Maybe. But I’ll die knowing that I brought him down. What better revenge than taking away the one person that loves him the most? That saved him. Quite the love story if you ask me. Two broken people finding one another when they least expected it. Losing you will make him vulnerable. Which will make him weak. Which will make him an easy target. He won't be thinking right. Maybe he'll go back to the pills and the drinking again. That would be a nice touch. That would make killing him even easier. So again...tell me...” he places his finger on the trailer. “...are you ready to die for him?”

“I don't know, Jason,” she smirks. “ Are you?”

*****

One shot. That's all it takes to bring him down. The nine millimetre round passing through the right side of his throat and passing through to the other side. Tyler doesn't hesitate pulling the trigger; he'll slip the magazine back into the Glock and return one to the chamber and tell Nik that it was a clean kill. That Jason had a gun to Esme's head and was going to kill her. It was a simple explanation. One that she would buy thanks to the cell phone in Esme's bag, recording the entire confrontation. There's no adrenaline rush that comes with killing now. He hasn't felt that in a long time; since way before the incident in Dhaka last year. Taking a life had become easy. Never blinking, never flinching. Just doing what he had to do to survive. Or help others survive.

The shot hasn't killed him. Through and through's rarely do unless they hit an artery on the way out. And he's writhing on the ground in agony when Tyler approaches, the soles of his boots passing over the layers of dirt and debris that line on the bridge. He's bleeding out; death will be slow. Agonizing. And he hopes that kid is feeling even a fraction of what he'd felt. When he'd been dragging himself across the cement, attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his own throat, growing weaker by the moment, choking on his blood. Those seconds had felt like hours. 

Time passes at an excruciatingly slow pace when you're waiting to die.

“You okay?” he asks his wife, as she leans back against the railing of the bridge. Jason's blood splattered across her face and over her clothing.

She nods, eyes riveted on the suffering figure moaning in agony on the pavement in front of her.

Tyler stands over him, placing a boot on his chest. “I told you not to fuck with me, didn't I. I told you not to go near my wife. But you couldn't resist, could you. You couldn't resist pissing me off.”

The younger man attempts a response. But it's nothing but a gurgle. Rivers of bright red blood pouring from the sides of his mouth.

Tyler chooses mercy over vengeance. And puts another round between his eyes. It's then that he realizes Farhad is still there; eyes wide in shock at what had played out around him. He isn’t so big and brave now. With none of his friends to back him, without the safety net of Asif and his hired thugs. “Where the fuck do you think you're going?” he growls, and advances on him. “Do you remember me, you little shit? The one you shot in the fucking neck a year ago? Yeah, you remember me, don't you.”

“I had nothing to do with this I swear,” the kid is visibly trembling. A far cry from the little hard ass wannabe that had ambushed him in the alley a year ago. Or when he'd pulled a bitch move and shot him from behind. “I wasn't going to hurt her. I was just here to talk. I...”

Tyler places the barrel of his gun against Farhad's forehead.  


Revenge is a fickle beast. One moment you are on the side of forgiveness, the next you're willing to take a life. His eyes never leave the kid's; watching the way the younger man violently trembles and tears fill his eyes. A satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when he realizes that he's actually made the kid piss himself. 

He holsters his gun. And pulling the knife from the pocket of his pants, uses it to slice through the zip ties binding Fahrad's wrists together. “Go,” he orders. “Get the hell out of here. Before I change my mind.”

“But you...I...”

“I said go!” he barks, and the kid gives a startled blink and then turns on his heel.

Tyler's never seen someone run that fast.

“You sure you're okay?” he asks his wife, as he joins her on the sidewalk. Using the front of his own t-shirt own clear the blood from her face and neck. “Probably stinks like hell,” he says in way of apology. “It's hot as fuck here today. But it's all I have so...”

She gives a tiny smile of appreciation, her eyes locked on his as he tenderly cleans her face. Such a juxtaposition; stone cold killer one minute, caring and doting husband the next.

“We need to move,” he tells her. “The bridge will be opening back up soon. It's going to be crawling with cops. We'll find a place to lie low until Yaz comes for us. We...”

Her lower lip begins to tremble, and she draws in a shaky breath as it all becomes too much. The memories of a year ago. The extent of the danger she'd not only put herself in, but also their unborn baby. And she gives a choked sob as she drops her head to his chest, arms circling his waist.

He holds her and lets her cry; body wracking sobs that he can feel to his very soul. All of the pain and the heartache of the past year flowing out of her all at once. The nightmare that she'd witnessed -and living with its consequences- finally coming to an end. It's a relief; to have that weight off of your shoulders. He knows far too well what it's like to hold onto the pain and allow it to drag you down. And he tangles his fingers in her hair and holds her head tightly to him, his other arm curling around her waist. Feeling the tears soaking through his t-shirt and the way the shivering finally begins to subside.

“It's okay now,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple before backing away and taking her face in his hands. “It's over. You can let it go now. You need to let it go.”

“I want to go home,” she sniffles. “I just want to go home.”

He knows it's impossible. That there's still people out there looking for them. That the troubles will never fully come to an end. But he can give her a home. In a new country. A new place. 

He can give her a future.

****

“So what now?” Yaz asks, a half an hour into their flight. 

Tyler had been dozing off; leaning back against the wall of the helicopter, legs stretched out. He's exhausted. Emotionally. His brain tired from reliving the day he nearly lost his life. From the flood of memories that had come surging back with a vengeance. From the stress and the rage and the worry that been eating him alive all day. Esme is fast asleep beside him; curled up in a fetal position with her head resting on his thigh, Yaz's jacket keeping her warm. He hasn't let her out of his sight since they left the bridge; keeping a protective hold on her, even now. His hand on the top of her head, softly stroking her hair.

“I have no idea,” he admits.

“So no going back to Australia?”

“That ship has sailed, mate. It's time to move on to bigger and better things.”

“So this is it, yeah? Your last job?”

“Suppose to be.”

He's surprised that he's used those words. It was only intended to be a one off. His last mission. But he'd been surprised at how much he actually missed it. The surge of energy and power you get when going into a dangerous situation; relying on your skill and your wits to get yourself and others out alive. He'd felt in complete control for the first time in a long time. Confident. As if the old Tyler was making a permanent reappearance instead of a temporary one.

Maybe there was a way. Of safely balancing two vastly different lives. One in which he was a husband and a father. Another where he was a soldier for hire.

“Do you think it's over?”” Yaz asks. “All this stuff with Ovi? What Jason did...”

“He said there's more of them out there just like him. I doubt he was running the whole show himself. That would have been too much ground to cover for one person.”

“Kind of fucked up, huh? The extents he was willing go to get to you.”

“Yeah...” Tyler agrees. “...just a little fucked up.”

Esme stirs; mumbling in her sleep and rubbing her cheek against his thigh. And he runs his palm over her hair and down onto her hip, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles. 

“I don't think it's over,” he says. “This bullshit with Ovi. I still think there's someone out there just waiting for their chance. I've made a lot of enemies over the years. It's foolish to think that they won't come after me.”

“Not if they can't find you,” Yaz points out.

“They'll find me. They always do.”

“So what then? Do you spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder? Waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

“No,” he says. “I spend it protecting my family.”

No matter what it takes.


End file.
